


The Advantages of Caring

by akamww3



Series: Advantages [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Married Mollcroft, Mollcroft, Oral Sex, Sex (Mature)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:33:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 150,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is my imagining of how Mycroft Holmes and Molly Hooper went from being strangers to becoming allies in the care of Sherlock Holmes to acknowledging a friendship of sorts between them and then, more unexpectedly, to taking steps toward a personal, intimate relationship ... resulting in Mycroft ultimately believing in and embracing the advantages of caring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tea and Benefits, Part I

_PROLOGUE -- A Narrative (or, in brief, how they got here from there)_

At first sight, he’d dismissed her as insignificant -- an astonishingly, appallingly dressed insignificance indeed -- and thought no more about her. She’d seen him from across the lab, having some sort of verbal skirmish with Sherlock, and dismissed him as a cold fish – attractive, posh-looking and elegantly dressed indeed, but a cold fish nevertheless – and thought no more about him.

At their second meeting, she’d learned how easily someone could be kidnapped off a busy London street with no one noticing, how icy the cold fish’s stare really was, and how deep the reach of the British government into her private business could go -- but she also emerged from the experience both proud of her ability to stand up to an interrogation intended to make her cower and shocked at the identity of the cold fish. Mycroft _Bloody_ Holmes.

He’d left their second meeting knowing he had underestimated Dr. Molly Hooper and, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, feeling she was to a certain extent a reliable ally in the continuing struggle to save Sherlock from his demons. In the following months, Mycroft was proven correct as he witnessed her ability both to deal with the fallout from Sherlock’s bad choices and to provide invaluable assistance with his recovery. She became a continuing, if under-appreciated, positive influence in and on Sherlock’s life and, along with DI Greg Lestrade and later Dr. John Watson and Mrs. Hudson, reduced in a small way the constant worry Mycroft felt concerning his brother. 

Not only did Dr. Hooper prove invaluable in the day-to-day madness that was Sherlock’s professional and personal life, but she also proved completely loyal, calmly efficient, and unfailingly dependable during the most critical of situations, the most extreme of which was his brother’s supposed death and the subsequent stress and pain of keeping their secret for two years.

During Sherlock’s long absence, Mycroft felt Dr. Hooper was owed the best protection he could provide against any possible attack – whether by members of Moriarty’s network or other potential assailants – but also, on a more personal basis, was due some assurance that his brother continued to survive his long mission. From their initially brief meetings at safe houses or secluded government buildings or simply a half hour’s ride through the city in the back of his car, they progressed eventually to afternoon teas in out-of-the-way teashops or restaurants and very occasionally the alternative of tea at her flat. 

Over time, their meetings became less a burden to Mycroft and more a welcome break from the usual stresses of his days. Without being aware of it, Molly stopped stuttering and blushing and chattering nervously to fill any silence between them and instead started talking calmly and articulately about her work, the professional papers she was writing, the big and small events of her life -- or simply enjoying her tea in silence without feeling a nervous need to fill any lapse in conversation. 

Their one-on-one contacts ceased upon Sherlock’s return, but a call from Mycroft two months later to check on Molly's well-being led to another meeting, then another, and the regular, if infrequent, nature of their meet-ups continued, even during the awful weeks and months after Sherlock’s shooting and the nationwide security crisis following Moriarty’s supposed (but eventually proven to be fake) return. 

In the process, Mr. Holmes became Mycroft and Dr. Hooper became Molly. 

Mycroft became Molly’s friend. And Molly became Mycroft’s … goldfish?

 

_PRESENT DAY_

Just before 4 p.m. on a sunny day in early June, Molly hurried through the door of yet another tucked away teashop and spotted Mycroft sitting at a table in a quiet alcove. The table was situated far enough from its neighbors to allow a discreet conversation.

Just inside the door, Molly stopped abruptly and stared at Mycroft, struck by the air of power and isolation surrounding him. He looked so perfectly cool, so perfectly sophisticated, so perfectly elegant in his oh-so-perfectly tailored suit, his long legs perfectly crossed just so, and what she could see of his face so perfectly impassive. His lips were pursed, phone at his ear. Molly suddenly felt intimidated by him in a way she’d never experienced, not even during her “kidnapping.” 

This Mycroft looked the part Sherlock ascribed to him – that of the most dangerous man she’d ever met. _The Ice Man._

Molly shivered and was alarmed to feel goose pimples rise on her arms. She suddenly wanted to turn and flee before he saw her. While she was still fidgeting from foot to foot, Mycroft glanced toward the door, gave her a brief nod, then uncrossed his legs and pocketed his phone. He stood and watched as she started toward him, a crease appearing between his brows as he noticed her hesitancy.

Mycroft pulled a chair out for her, “Good afternoon, Molly.”

Molly returned his greeting, then sat and let him slide her chair closer to the table before returning to his own. She stared at her plate, her fingers fidgeting with the cutlery, until Mycroft’s hand covered hers.

“What is it, my dear?” At Mycroft’s gentle inquiry, Molly relaxed a bit and looked up at him. The crease had deepened between his brows and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

Molly gave him a quick smile. “It’s nothing – just a bit distracted today.” She glanced around the room, which was charmingly decorated, the quintessential English tea shop, then smiled more naturally at Mycroft. “How do you find these places?”

“I have an app.”

She giggled at his dry tone.

They were interrupted by the arrival of the tea cart. By the time the server had unloaded their choices, Molly was more relaxed. After having tea together so many times over the last two years, each of them knew the other’s usual preferences so whoever arrived first would place their order. They’d also developed a sort of ritual: Molly would serve their plates while Mycroft poured their tea.

They worked their way through finger sandwiches and scones, then started on the sweets, idling chatting but mostly sharing a comfortable silence. Mycroft told her that work had taken him to Athens for a couple of weeks but offered no details (literally: “I was in Athens a couple of weeks”). Molly told him -- no doubt in more detail that he cared for -- about the blind date she’d narrowly avoided. Her friend Meena had been pushing Molly to meet “Jared” and finally tried to force a meeting by bringing him to their planned pub evening without telling Molly beforehand. So Molly had slipped out the back door when she saw them come in, then later sent Meena a text that she was detained at work. 

Mycroft raised his cup to Molly in a mock salute. 

Molly grinned, then sighed. “I just wish I wasn’t so subject to the whims of my hormones.” Mycroft’s hand stopped midway to replacing his cup in the saucer. Molly glanced his way and saw he was staring at her, an arrested expression on his face. “Oh my god – did I say that out loud?”

Mycroft set the cup down, then stroked his cheek with a finger. “Yes, my dear, you did.” His lips twitched as Molly blushed. He took pity on her and looked away. 

Molly thought he was focused on the last fairy cake. “Go ahead.”

He turned back to her, brows raised. “Hmmm?” He followed her gaze to the tiered cake plate. “No, thank you. I’ve had sufficient.” Without looking at her, he gently cleared his throat. “Are you having a problem, my dear?”

Molly sighed again and fiddled with her fork. “Sometimes I just wish I could consider my body as transport, like Sherlock. It’s not as if I’m sex-crazed – in fact, I’m probably a little sub-normal, whatever that is – but I _do_ miss being with someone occasionally.” Feeling the weight of the resulting silence, she looked up and blushed bright red. “I-I-I am so sorry, Mycroft.” She dropped her face into her palms. “I don’t know why I said that.” She rubbed her forehead and then lifted her eyes toward him, still red-faced. “It’s probably because I think of you as being omniscient – that you already know everything about me anyway, including all the embarrassing bits.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s disturbing or, ah, flattering – possibly a bit of both.” He smiled wryly. “I can assure you, however, that I neither read your thoughts nor have cameras placed in your flat.” Mycroft touched his serviette to his mouth, then cleared his throat. “Have you not … dated … anyone since Tom?”

“No,” Molly admitted. “We’ve been really busy at work the last six months, and, and – well, it just seems that nothing goes right for me in that area. I’m obviously a failure at relationships, or at least _romantic_ ones.” Then smiling at him, “I’m pretty good at being friends.”

“Indeed you are, Molly.” He poured himself another cup of tea after Molly refused one. He took a sip and set the cup down, then leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and flicked a piece of lint off his knee. Without looking at her, he continued: “You’re an intelligent, attractive young woman, my dear, well-respected in your profession, capable of handling an important position with expertise and efficiency, and dealing calmly with stressful situations and stress-causing people, all without compromising your many fine personal qualities. You shouldn’t give up on romance.” He finally looked at her, a wry twist to his lips. “Obviously, it’s not my area –”

“That’s what you said about friendships, Mycroft, and now look at you … wasting an hour of your busy day sharing a secret teatime with me.” Molly was flustered by his complimentary comments, but his matter-of-fact recitation of them allowed her to respond lightly and ignore her hot cheeks. 

“It’s not a secret – we’re in a public place ...” He looked around, grimacing, “… where anyone could walk in.”

Molly changed her mind about more tea and reached for the teapot. As she filled her cup, she said thoughtfully, “What I really need is a Friend With Benefits.” Mycroft arched a brow at her, questionly. “Surely you’ve heard the phrase ...?” He kept arching that brow, then scowled when Molly wrinkled her nose at him. “You know, a friend you can ring up for a booty call when you’re going through a dry spell?” Mycroft’s expression remained unchanged. “ _Sex,_ Mycroft! Sex without strings but with someone you like, someone you trust but have no romantic feelings for. Recreational sex, so to speak.”

She’d looked away from him during that last bit, but turned back suddenly and found him staring at her fixedly, a strange look in his eyes. “Hey – do you know any field agents who’d be suitable for, and might like, such a no-strings setup?” Then she deliberately widened her eyes. “Or maybe YOU could assist me, Mycroft!” Molly laughed aloud when his expression changed to one of utter horror.

“I am not a pimp, Molly,” he said after a moment, looking affronted.

“And I am not a pro, Mycroft,” looking equally affronted. Molly huffed, then reached up to pat his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mycroft. I don’t know what I’m saying.” She dropped her hand. “Besides, a no-strings arrangement with a nice, non-pervert, un-needy, trustworthy man is obviously just a fantasy.” Molly sat up straighter and sighed. “My teasing went too far. Forgive me, please? I didn’t mean to be indelicate.” She cleared her throat. “Actually, that was a bit vulgar, yes?”

Molly quickly changed the subject without giving Mycroft time to respond. “So, are you leaving the country again soon – assuming you can tell me?” She took another sip of tea then carefully placed the cup in the saucer. 

Mycroft’s features had settled into their usual cool impassivity. “No immediate plans, but the unexpected trip is always to be expected.” He gave her a small smile. “On a more volatile note, how’s Sherlock behaving these days?”

“He regularly sweeps into the lab or morgue with his usual dramatic flair, coat swirling, collar turned up – then demands my assistance or expects body parts or” [laughs] “orders coffee and/or insults my intelligence … you know, the usual. He appears to be doing well, though, in Sherlockian terms.”

Mycroft pursed his lips, brows raised. “You certainly seem to be handling his dramatics better these days.”

Molly kept her eyes focused on her fingers, which were again fiddling with her fork. “Sherlock is Sherlock, and I’ll always do whatever I can to help him and keep him on as even a keel as possible.” She looked sideways at Mycroft. “You do know I’m not in love with him, right? I love him as my friend and find him and his work infinitely interesting, but I have no romantic hopes for him.”

Molly turned fully toward Mycroft and found him staring at her with an intent look in his eyes. He blinked a few times, then cleared his throat. “Duty calls.” He touched his serviette to his lips, placed it by his plate, then pushed his chair back.

Molly quickly finished her tea and wiped her mouth. “Yes, of course.”

Mycroft pulled Molly’s chair back, then dropped a large note on the server’s plate. Molly made no comment. She’d stopped arguing about paying her share early on after Mycroft told her he would not meet her if she insisted on paying as he couldn’t feel free to choose their meeting places if she’d be the one out-of-pocket. Besides, he’d said with a gentle smile to lessen any potential offense, he wouldn’t notice the cost. Molly didn’t know the extent of his wealth, but she knew that was the truth. She settled for providing tea and homemade treats on those occasions when they met at her flat.

Mycroft’s car arrived just as they left the teashop. Molly declined Mycroft’s offer of a lift, but waited until the car departed before turning toward Bart’s. As she walked, Molly thought about what she’d said to Mycroft. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! He’ll probably never call me again. How could I have said such things to HIM of all people?_ She felt as if her entire body was flushed with embarrassment, but she also felt sick at the thought of losing his continued company. 

Molly arrived at Bart’s and went straight to her office, resisting the strong urge to sit at her desk and have a good cry -- not only at the thought of losing Mycroft’s friendship, but also because the ache of loneliness she’d joked about was real. Instead, she quickly donned her labcoat, smoothed her hair, and headed for the morgue.


	2. Tea and Benefits, Part II

Molly hadn’t heard from Mycroft for two weeks. The lack of further communication was not necessarily significant as they generally saw each other no more than twice a month and they usually didn’t talk on the phone other than to set up their next meeting.

But it _felt_ significant.

* * * * * * 

The last week of June saw it shaping up to be a record-setting month at Bart’s morgue as London’s murder rate rose along with the temperatures. 

Despite the increase in body count, Greg Lestrade’s overall case load was actually more manageable than usual since most were open-and-shut cases. Greg’s work was therefore far less headache-inducing as well, since the crimes weren’t deemed worthy of the involvement of a certain Consulting Detective. Greg’s occasional visits to the morgue to discuss Molly’s findings were short on business talk and more about friends catching up.

A bored Sherlock, on the other hand, called on Molly’s assistance more and more in the pursuit and monitoring of his various experiments. As ever, she found his work stimulating and enjoyed contributing what she could to the results, but meeting his growing demands while keeping up with her own increased work load was proving to be exhausting.

Molly would fall into bed almost as soon as she got home, but found her sleep disturbed by fanciful thoughts about Mycroft.

* * * * * * 

Anthea shut down her computer and checked her watch. _8:30 … not bad._ She placed her handbag on the desk, then tapped on Mycroft’s door and stuck her head in.

“I’m leaving, sir.” Frowning, Anthea stepped through and walked slowly to his desk. “Sir?”

Mycroft, who had been leaning back in his chair, chin resting against his steepled fingers, eyes closed, abruptly sat up at her questioning tone and turned a blank stare on her, his face completely unreadable. “Good night, my dear.”

Her gaze dropped to his fingers, which were fiddling with his pen. His hand immediately stilled. When she raised her eyes back to his, he arched a brow. 

Anthea unexpectedly felt awkward – a rare emotion for her, if not _unprecedented_ – so she quickly returned his “good night” and left.

As the door closed behind her, Mycroft picked up his pen, fingers turning it in circles for several seconds, then he let out a long breath and tossed the pen on his desk.

_This simply will not do._

* * * * * * 

Across town, Molly was washing dishes and talking to Toby, who ignored her in favor of the more interesting pastime of licking his stomach. She jumped, startled, when three light taps rang out on the door. She glanced at the clock while drying her hands, then walked out of the kitchen wondering what Mycroft was doing there at 9:30.

Before opening the door, she looked down at her bare feet, kitten pajama bottoms (black and pink, her favorite), and the black, cropped T-shirt that left a strip of waist bare. She hiked her pajamas up to cover her stomach, flipped her hair over her shoulders, shrugged _(he’d certainly seen worse)_ and opened the door. 

Smiling, “Good evening, Mycroft.”

“Good evening, my dear.” His lips quirked as he ran his eyes over her. “My apologies for turning up without notice.”

Molly watched him walk past, swinging his umbrella before hanging it on the coat rack. “It’s fine. I was just washing up.” She ran her eyes down his dark blue, pin-striped suit, then back up, pausing to appreciate his silvery blue tie. She raised her eyes further and flushed when she found him watching her.

“Would you like some tea? A glass of wine?”

“Tea would be good. Thank you, Molly.”

She led the way to the kitchen and heard Mycroft settle himself at the table behind her. She filled the kettle, flipped the switch, then took a seat across from him. His hands had been splayed flat on the table, but now he intertwined his fingers, raised his clasped hands, and rested his chin on them. He didn’t say anything, just studied her calmly.

“What is it, Mycroft?” Molly leaned over the table, an anxious expression on her face. “Are you all right?” Her eyes widened. “Is Sherlock all right?”

“I’m fine, my dear.” He sighed and dropped his hands to the table. “And as far as I know, so is my little brother.” 

Molly got up to make the tea, but glanced back at Mycroft, finding him staring at her with a strange expression that faded to his usual neutrality as she met his gaze. She left the tea to brew for a few minutes and returned to the table. 

Suddenly, she understood. “I _knew_ this would happen.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Would it make any difference to you if I promised never to act so silly again?”

Mycroft snorted, then smiled. “I don’t think deductions are your strong point, Molly.” 

“If you’re not here to … [air quotes] ‘break up with me,’ then what is it?” As she spoke, Molly returned to the kitchen, finished making the tea, and added crockery, cutlery, a plate of biscuits and other items to the large tea tray. Mycroft cleared his throat and stood as Molly finished, intending to take the tray from her. 

“After giving the matter some considerable thought,” he paused as she turned toward him, “I wondered if you would be interested in sharing those benefits you described with _me_ – _MOLLY!”_

He shot forward as Molly gasped and lost control of the tray. Everything on it slid off and crashed to the floor, leaving cutlery, broken shards and hot tea all around her. Toby shot out of the room and leapt to the top of the bookcase, while Molly stared incredulously at her kitchen floor.

Without hesitating, Mycroft simply picked Molly up, carried her around the table and set her down under the kitchen archway. He then stooped to pick up the tea pot, which somehow survived in one piece (though its lid had come off), and set it on the worktop. 

“Oh my god,” Molly whispered, staring wide-eyed at Mycroft. He wasn’t sure if she was reacting to the mess or to his question, but, on balance, figured the latter was probable.

“Where do you keep your broom and dustpan?”

Molly pointed toward a cupboard. She finally came out of her daze and stepped forward to pick up some cutlery, but Mycroft blocked her with an outstretched arm. “Stay back, Molly. You’ll cut your feet.”

He put the cutlery in the sink, dropped the larger pieces of crockery in the dustbin, then started sweeping. When Molly returned from putting her shoes on, most of the mess was swept into a central pile.

He hadn’t even removed his jacket.

“Give me that.” She grabbed hold of the broom, but he didn’t let go. “You shouldn’t be cleaning up my mess. _Please,_ Mycroft. Let me finish this.” She pointed toward the sitting room. “Go sit.”

He looked at her a moment longer, then released the broom, straightened his jacket, and walked to the sofa. Toby was sitting on a chair, but jumped down and leapt onto the sofa beside Mycroft, who frowned down at him.

Molly finished cleaning up as quickly as possible, then went to the archway. “Do you want to try for tea again?”

“Let’s leave it for now, Molly. Come sit.”

Molly stood on one foot, then the other, fingers twisting together in front of her. Her fingers touched bare skin and she flushed, pulling her pajama bottoms higher. Mycroft beckoned her with a hand. “Come and sit.”

She finally crossed the room, kicked off her shoes and sank into the chair across from him, propping a foot on the coffee table that separated them. She avoided looking right at him.

“Molly –”

“I _did_ hear you, Mycroft.” She met his eyes, blushing. She clapped her hands over her face and breathed heavily, completely humiliated. She finally lowered her hands and found Mycroft looking at her curiously. He lifted a brow, and she felt her blush return. “Oh my god.”

“Not quite.” He smirked, which made her giggle nervously.

“Mycroft –” She took a deep breath. “Mycroft, I am _so_ embarrassed about what I said last time.”

“You mean you don’t actually want a –” [smirking] “beneficial friend?”

“Of _course_ I do!” She snapped, then shot up, exhaling loudly. “This is _madness!_ You don’t want all this --” [indicating her body with a flourish, then waving her hand toward the kitchen] “this mess, this, this silliness – this _MESS!_ And, yes, I _know_ I’m repeating myself!”

Molly ran her hands through her hair, grabbed fists of it and pulled, at the same time groaning in frustration, eyes squeezed shut. She stood there breathing noisily for several moments. She heard a strange noise from Mycroft and looked at him suspiciously, only to find him regarding her quizzically, eyebrows raised. She let go of her hair, tried to smooth it back in place, and dropped her hands. She took another deep breath, then slumped back into her chair. Lifting her gaze to his, she tried again.

“Mycroft, I am truly sorry to have acted like the silly, emotionally unstable … _goldfish_ … you must have thought me when we first met.” [Mycroft huffed in annoyance.] “Yep … Sherlock told me your views on goldfish quite some time ago.” Mycroft’s expression became closed off. “Don’t look like that. I understood – I _understand_ – and am sorry to have proved myself to be as unreliably ordinary as everyone else.”

As Mycroft stared at her, some undercurrent of emotion flashed across his face. For a moment, Molly saw something intense in his eyes, then it was gone. He looked down, a crease between his brows as he examined the fingernails on his left hand. Mycroft dropped his hand on the sofa arm, looked at Molly impassively, then said, in an even tone, “Regrettably, my brother is a bit of a blabbermouth.” He smirked when Molly giggled at his use of such an un-Mycroft term. “You, my dear Molly, are definitely _not_ a goldfish.”

He suddenly stood and walked to Molly’s bookcase. He paused there a few moments, then walked back to loom over her. Molly looked up at him in astonishment. Finally, Mycroft sat again and looked at her thoughtfully.

“So,” he said in a tone of bored indifference,” the entire conversation was a joke?” Then, his tone sharpening, “Or is it only the idea of _me_ in that role that you find a joke?”

Molly gasped, then without thinking about it, jumped up to stand in front of him, fists clenched. He stood up as well, crowding her, and she instinctively brought her right foot back and then kicked him in the shin. Mycroft dropped onto the sofa, leaning forward to rub his shin, glaring at her. After several moments of taut silence, he slumped back and let out a long breath. Molly continued to glower at him.

“This is ridiculous, Molly,” he said evenly, “and I have very little patience for this kind of childish behavior. What little patience I _do_ have is exhausted by Sherlock.” He roughly rubbed a hand over his face, then gave her a wry look. “But I’ve willingly participated in it this time. I daresay you might even accuse me of _instigating_ it.” He pressed his fingertips together, rested his chin on them, then looked at her soberly, eyebrows raised. “What does that tell you?”

Molly straightened, then awkwardly pulled her T-shirt down and her pajama bottoms up. “I apologize for resorting to violence.” Mycroft made a noise under his breath. “Obviously, you’ve experienced _much_ worse, but it was still wrong of me. Besides –” [looking at him, crossly] “kicking you hurt my foot so I didn’t get to enjoy it!”

They studied each other, Mycroft’s expression softening in amusement and Molly’s frown changing to a mischievous grin. “Actually, the pain was worth it just to see the expression on your face!” She laughed, then moved to stand by him, flicking a finger toward the sofa arm. He moved his hand, and she gingerly sat down before turning to look at him. He leaned further back and raised one brow.

Molly twisted her fingers, nervously. “So, did you mean it?”

“Yes.” Simply said, with no change of expression.

_“Really?”_

He studied her thoughtfully for a few moments, then raised his brows, eyes widening. “If you are under the mistaken impression that I’m a virgin …” [Molly, blushing, “Of _course_ not!”] “or -- what?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

Mycroft looked at her skeptically, but decided to let it go. “The very nature of my work not only requires most of my time and attention, but demands utmost discretion. Limiting any social contact to that absolutely required by my position not only suits my personal inclinations, but serves me well professionally. And, Molly, forgoing personal – _intimate_ – relations does indeed suit my own natural disposition. However,” he paused, looking closely at her, “I do have the occasional … encounter, though they’re few and far between. The most recent was last year with a Greek translator during a NATO summit in Wales. It was for one evening and I never saw her again.”

Molly looked away from him, wishing she could control her blush. “That is absolutely _none_ of my business, Mycroft.” 

“You’ve told me about Tom. Fair’s fair, if we’re going to do this.” Mycroft took Molly’s hand, and she turned her face back to him. “I am not a romantic or sentimental man, as you well know. That Ice Man tag isn’t unearned, my dear -- I _am_ a cold man. However,” he smiled, gently. “If you choose to proceed with this, I will attempt to allow my _warmer_ side to emerge when we are alone together.”

Molly straightened her shoulders, threaded her fingers through Mycroft’s, then looked straight into his eyes, trying not to blush. “I’d like that, Mycroft.”

He blinked a few times, expression unreadable, then gave her a level smile and made a move to get up. They both stood, and Molly watched as he flipped his pocket watch open then snapped it shut. “I have to go, my dear, but I’ll call you soon.” He smiled at her, then turned toward the door. “You’re off duty this weekend, are you not?”

“Yes.” Molly followed him and waited as he took his umbrella in one hand and reached for the door knob with the other. Then hesitantly, “Mycroft …”

He stopped and turned back to her. “Hmm?”

She didn’t say anything, just stood there biting her lower lip and staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Molly?”

“Can you actually _do_ this, Mycroft?” She blushed when he frowned, a vertical crease between his brows. “No, sorry – I don’t mean can you do _THAT.”_ She rolled her eyes. “I mean, can you really bring yourself to allow me to touch you? Do you think you could … actually _enjoy_ it?” She blushed again as she lowered her gaze to the floor. “You appear to be so untouchable.”

Mycroft pursed his lips, then sighed. “Molly, this is not a conversation I ever imagined having.” He raised her chin with a finger. “I assure you I never would have raised the matter if I hadn’t taken into consideration all that it means.” He raised his brows and quirked his lips. “Can you say the same?”

Molly spun away from him, feeling panicky, but turned back after a few seconds. She looked up at him, then dropped her eyes to stare at his watch chain.

“You most likely don’t want to hear this, but – ” Molly took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut. “I find you _extremely_ attractive and have done so for a long time.” She stopped, held her breath for a moment, then let it out in a deep sigh. She looked up at him. “Don’t worry … I’m not _crushing_ on you, but there is that silent ‘wow’ thing going on whenever I first see you.” Mycroft’s cheeks darkened as he raised his umbrella and focused fiercely on its tip. Molly coughed nervously. “I just can’t believe you find me at all attractive in that way.” She blushed again. “Obviously, _some_ sort of attraction is required for this to work.” 

Mycroft continued staring at his umbrella, then suddenly gave it a twirl and hooked it back on the coat rack before turning to her. “As I’ve told you before, my dear, you are a very attractive woman, despite your odd clothing choices.” [Molly huffed as she hitched up her pajama bottoms, then remembered the kittens on them and winced.] “Yes, the attraction is – quite sufficient.”

Molly stepped closer, lifted her hands, palms facing him, and paused. “May I?”

Mycroft inclined his head, and Molly rested her hands against his chest, lifted up on her toes, tilted her chin, and waited. As he continued to look at her, she saw a heated glint _(dear lord!)_ come into his eyes. He raised his right hand, slid it through her hair and around her neck, then tilted her head further back. She felt heat rise from her core and her heart rate speed up as they stared at each other in silence.

Mycroft slowly lowered his head and Molly strained higher on her toes. They tilted heads in opposite directions, warm breaths mingling, then their lips touched softly. Mycroft pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet, then dropped his gaze to her lips as his free arm slid along the now-bared skin of her waist and pulled her closer. Molly lifted herself even higher, wrapping her arms around his neck as far as she could reach and pressing her breasts more tightly against him. Mycroft tilted his head the other way, Molly followed suit, then they simply _claimed_ each other’s mouths – humming as they mapped the contour of the other’s lips, sliding over slick surfaces, nibbling gently to test their firmness. As Mycroft ran his tongue lightly over Molly’s lower lip, she opened her mouth and they took the exploration deeper, their breaths quickening until Molly felt light-headed and grabbed Mycroft’s shoulders. They slowly separated, breathing heavily and staring wide-eyed at each other. 

After a few moments, Mycroft raised a hand, tucked Molly’s hair behind her ears, then gave her a warm smile that was reflected in his eyes. “So … unless a new war starts somewhere – ” [lifting his brows] “Friday night?”

“Oh, um, okay,” biting her lip – her softly swollen lip. _(Oh my god.)_

“Good night, my dear” Mycroft smiled again, then grabbed his umbrella and went out the door. 

Still feeling a bit light-headed, Molly followed him into the corridor, but let him get as far as the stairs before remembering to reply. She stumbled back into the flat, pushed the door shut with her backside, and promptly slid to a sitting position on the floor in front of it. _Dear god … I’m going to have sex with Mycroft Bloody Holmes!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate my summary! It was my first one and I now realize it is waaaaay too long. Sorry!  
> Also, no copyright infringement is intended. All credit for our favorite characters goes to ... well, you all know who!


	3. Not His Natural Milieu, But ....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Here be sex! Plus, Mycroft says a bad word.  
> This includes my first ever sex scene, which I've tried to keep within "mature" bounds and not cross into "explicit" (am not sure about ratings). Please advise if you think the tags should be changed, and I'll fix. Thanks!

Molly’s mobile rang late Thursday afternoon as she sat in her office, finishing a report before leaving for home. She smiled, delighted, when she saw the name. “Good afternoon, Mycroft!”

“Good afternoon, my dear. I hope your week is going well.”

“Nothing unusual so far, and I’m actually going to get out of here on time tonight, barring any last minute crisis.” Her fingers tensed on the phone when Mycroft didn’t immediately reply. 

“I thought we should finalize our plans,” he finally said, casually. “Would you like to come to my home tomorrow evening and stay for the weekend?”

Molly gasped before she could stop it, then covered the phone while she took a deep breath. “I-I-I’d like that, Mycroft. My shift ends at 6:30, so I could probably be at mine by 7:30.”

“Or I could send a car to Bart’s so you could come straight to the house,” he offered. “Of course, you’d need to take your bag to the office, which may not suit –”

“That would be fine.” Molly interrupted. “Do I need to bring anything special? I mean, would we be going …?”

“I thought we’d just have a quiet weekend at home, unless you’d like to –“

_“No!_ Um, no … that sounds goo-- fine.” 

“Well, then …,” he paused. “I'll see you tomorrow evening.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Molly replied, then blushed. _Oh my god._ “Good night, Mycroft!” And promptly rang off before he had a chance to reply.

* * * * * * * *

DI Greg Lestrade pushed through the laboratory doors, calling out Molly’s name, and froze on hearing the sharp clatter and deep thuds of unknown objects crashing to the floor. He stepped farther into the lab, calling Molly’s name again, and spotted the top of her head between two of the long tables. She popped up with a “Hi, Greg,” put her clipboard and a book on top of a table, then stooped down again. Greg saw she was picking up more books so grabbed a couple that had slid on the floor toward him. They finished re-stacking everything, then he apologized for startling her.

“It’s OK,” Molly said, laughing. “I’m just a bit jumpy today.” She straightened her labcoat and smoothed some hair behind her ears. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Richards?”

“Oh, yes -- I was just about to get started. A shooting, right?”

“Yeah, but there’s some question about whether it was self-inflicted.” 

Greg followed Molly to the morgue, where a black body bag was already waiting for her on the table. He watched as she unzipped the bag and thought she looked paler than usual. “You all right, Molly?”

She looked up. “I’m fine, Greg. As I said, just kind of on edge today.”

“Oh, have you had a visit from our favorite consulting detective?”

She laughed again, shaking her head. “I haven’t been so blessed today.” She pulled a pair of gloves out of a dispenser and snapped them on. “Let’s see what we have here.”

* * * * * * * * 

Molly checked the time as she fastened her watch. _6:30._ She quickly gathered her hair dryer and various toiletries to stow in her locker, grabbed her handbag and weekender, and left the locker room, turning down the long corridor toward the exit. She pushed through the last set of doors just as Sherlock and John were about to reach for them.

“Ahhhh, Molly.” She froze, face falling, as Sherlock grinned at her with enthusiasm. “Just the person I need.”

“Sorry, Sherlock, I’m just leaving –"

“This will take only a few minutes,” wheedling. 

“I can’t stay … I have plans and –”

“Oh, _please,”_ he interrupted, jovially. “Not another attempt at romance!” He put an arm around her shoulders and turned her back toward the lab. Molly jerked away, glaring at him. 

“Sorry, Sherlock, but I am _not_ available. Dr. Denis is on duty and I’m sure he’ll be happy to assist you.” She ignored Sherlock’s look of astonishment, nodded to John, and stalked off. Just before stepping outside, she heard Sherlock call her name, but again ignored him. Once on the pavement, she pushed the strap of her handbag higher on her shoulder, tightened her grip on the other bag, and took off at a sprint to the end of the block. She turned the corner and found the black car idling at the curb as Mycroft had promised. She slowed to a walk, looking over her shoulder to check for any sign of followers, then headed for the car, trying to regain whatever dignity she possessed.

The back door opened and Molly was surprised to see Mycroft peering back at her, narrow-eyed, from the shadowed interior. His driver opened the boot and came to take the larger bag. 

“You look a bit flustered, my dear,” Mycroft said as he moved over to make room. She stepped in, dropped her handbag to the floor, then settled onto the seat with a tired sigh. She turned her face toward him, rolling her eyes.

“Sherlock,” she answered gloomily.

Mycroft slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and turned toward her. “What did he do?” he asked, resignedly, a crease between his brows.

“No, it’s all right.” She rubbed her nose. “Sherlock arrived just as I was leaving and tried a few of his usual tactics to get me to stay.” She paused, then smiled at Mycroft. “It didn’t work.” He continued to look at her, frowning. “Don’t worry. John was with him and Dr. Denis is on duty. He can handle Sherlock and will give him what he wants as long as it’s not too outrageous – or illegal.” She snorted. “Not that _that’s_ assured.” She grinned at him, and he slowly smiled back. “I told Dr. Denis to text me if things get worse than I expect.”

Mycroft straightened, facing forward again, so his and Molly’s shoulders were almost touching, then put his right hand on the seat between them, palm up. She looked at him sideways and then placed her hand over his. He threaded their fingers together. They watched the passing street scenes in silence until Mycroft’s phone buzzed. He reached a bit awkwardly into his pocket, left-handed, keeping hold of Molly.

“Yes?” Mycroft listened a moment, then gave her a brief smile before freeing his hand to retrieve a small notebook. Molly watched out of the corner of her eye as he flipped through its pages. “I gave you my views on that this morning.” [pause] “Need I repeat myself?” Molly suppressed a shudder at his clipped, icy tone. “Twenty minutes.” He lowered the phone, looked at it a moment, then slipped both it and the notebook back in his pocket. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before glancing at her. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize to me for doing your job, Mycroft. I may not know what you do, but I understand that it’s important.” She drew a breath. “Do you want to take me home? We can make plans for another time.”

Mycroft reached for her hand again. “No … as long as you don’t mind that I need to work awhile when we reach the house.” He looked at her, brows creased. “Perhaps you could read or take a nap or …” [a quirk of his lips, one brow lifting] “have a long soak in the tub?”

Molly wrinkled her nose, but looked interested. “Actually, that last one sounds blissful. I had a shower at Bart’s, but the luxury of a good soak … yes, bliss.” She grinned at him. “And maybe a glass of wine?”

“Done.”

They smiled at each other and traveled in a companionable silence. Molly looked out the window, eyes widening as they drove through St. John’s Wood. The car slowed at a large corner residence situated behind a stone wall, then waited for the heavy gate to open before turning up the paved drive. Trailing vines softened the top edges of the wall’s rough surface. Molly twisted around to look as they passed through the gate and located several cameras angled at different directions along the length of the wall. “The house belonged to my mother’s parents,” Mycroft explained, watching her. “I’ve lived here for about fifteen years.”

It was a double-fronted, detached Georgian home, set in lovely landscaped gardens, fully enclosed by the wall. Mycroft leaned across her to open the car door, and Molly stepped out, looking around curiously. Mycroft stood just as the front door opened and a pleasant looking, white-haired woman came out. He urged Molly forward with a hand on the small of her back. “Dr. Hooper, this is Mrs. Collingwood, my housekeeper.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Hooper.” Up close, Mrs. Collingwood wasn’t as old as her white hair and rather cuddly appearance indicated.

“And you,” Molly replied, offering her hand. She flinched as a shadow loomed on her right side, then felt foolish when she saw it was the driver – Walter – handing her bag to Mrs. Collingwood. Mycroft guided Molly into a beautifully decorated entrance hall. She glanced back and, through the leaded glass panel in the front door, saw the flash of tail lights as the car pulled away.

“Would you please show Dr. Hooper upstairs,” Mycroft said to Mrs. Collingwood. “I have to work awhile, but we’ll be ready for dinner in – “he paused, looking at Molly, “does an hour suit you?”

“That would be fine, M—” She stopped, flushing over the use of his first name in front of Mrs. Collingwood. Mycroft lifted his brows. She gave him a cross look before turning to follow the housekeeper up the stairs. Mycroft watched until they turned out of sight before heading toward his study.

* * * * * * * *

Molly was relieved when Mrs. Collingwood showed her into what was obviously a guest suite, placing her bag on the bed, then continuing to an open doorway, waving a hand inside. “Towels, toiletries and hair dryer are in the cupboard.” Molly followed her and peeked in, then stood back. “If you need anything else, you can ring me on the phone – extension 121” [pointing at the bedside table]. She smiled, then left, shutting the door behind her.

Molly immediately went to start the bath, then returned to the bedroom to open her bag and consider what to wear. She hadn’t expected the opportunity to bathe again and change before … well, _before._ She’d brought several clothing options for the weekend and decided to dress up a bit for their first night. She placed her choices on the bed and went back to check on the bath. She added some expensive smelling salts, then quickly stripped, wrapped her hair in a towel, and sank into the enfolding warmth with a happy sigh. She was alarmed at hearing a knock a few minutes later, then the door opening, but relaxed when Mrs. Collingwood called, “Dr. Hooper?” She tapped on the bathroom door, and Molly called for her to come in after checking that the bubbles covered her important bits.

The housekeeper came in, carrying a bottle of white wine and a wine glass on a tray. “Mr. Holmes asked me to bring this to you.” She smiled at Molly’s blush, then pushed a stool toward the bath with her foot and set the tray down. “I hope you enjoy it,” she said, with twinkling eyes. Flustered, Molly wanted to slide her head under the water, but returned the smile.

Twenty minutes later, Molly rose from the tub, then moved to the shower for a quick rinse, being careful not to get her hair wet. The bubbles may have _smelled_ delicious, but a curious lick of her forearm had proved they didn’t _taste_ that way. She smiled to herself as she stepped onto the shower mat and dried herself more roughly than necessary. Wrapped in another towel, she let her hair down, carefully combed out the tangles, then twisted the long lengths into a braided bun at the crown of her head. She looked in the mirror, smoothed her brows with a damp finger, then carefully darkened her lashes, deciding against further makeup since she didn’t normally wear much anyway. She unwrapped the towel and considered herself in the mirror, watching in bemusement as the blush on her face spread south toward her breasts. She’d never seen that before and flushed even redder thinking about who else might witness it later. 

Molly walked naked into the bedroom, feeling self-conscious at doing so in Mycroft’s home. She donned a silky peach-colored bra and matching knickers, then pulled a fine cotton knit dress in a similar pastel color over her head and tugged it over her hips. It had a simple design – oval scooped neck, elbow-length sleeves, closely fitted at the waist, then a swirly skirt ending just above her knees. She felt good in it and welcomed the boost to her confidence. She stepped into a pair of low heels, slipped plain gold hoops through her ear lobes and fastened a fine, twisted gold necklace at her nape. Running a finger along the scooped neckline of her dress, she wondered what Mycroft would think, or if he’d have any particular reaction at all. He’d never seen her dressed like this. The few times she’d been wearing a skirt in his presence, she’d also had on a coat or a jacket or her labcoat, so a dress that actually exposed much skin at all was certainly a departure. Molly hoped Mycroft would like the way she looked, but, at the same time, knew it didn’t matter. She didn’t think he was one to be seduced by appearances (or seduced, full stop). _For god’s sake, we agreed on this while I was in my kitten pajamas!_

She checked her watch, then headed out the door and down the corridor. She peeked over the railing and saw Mycroft standing at the bottom of the staircase, leaning against the wall, feet crossed, phone at his ear. The steady flicker of arousal she’d been experiencing all afternoon flared hotter at the effortless elegance he exuded. He looked up, smiling as he slid the phone into his pocket. Molly suppressed a moan, wondering if it were medically possible for her ovaries to explode before any real action got underway, and started down the stairs.

As she reached the bottom stair, Mycroft took her hand and – _dear lord_ – brought the back of it to his lips, while looking up at her through his lashes. She felt like some sort of Victorian heroine, in need of a fainting couch. “Who are you and what have you done with Mycroft?”

“He’s in his cryogenic chamber in the garage.” Molly snorted as he straightened and drew her arm through his, patting her hand where it rested on his wrist. She finally noticed that he’d changed as well … into another finely tailored suit, this one being an olive green linen. _Is that what he considers informal wear?_

“You look lovely, Molly.” His lips twitched as he glanced down at her. “Not that I don’t appreciate your cherry-covered jumper or kitten pajamas.” Molly wrinkled her nose at him, then let him usher her to the dining room.

Less than an hour later, they were back at the base of the staircase. Molly chuckled when he waved her up them with a flourish, which relieved some of the tension that had built up during dinner. Neither of them had done justice to Mrs. Collingwood’s cooking, Molly’s appetite for food having fled when Mycroft kissed her hand. She’d been relieved when he’d pushed away from the table and come around to rest his hands on the back of her chair, with a quiet, “Finished?”

* * * * * * * *

As Mycroft followed Molly up the stairs, he had to force himself to keep to her slow pace and not hurry her along with a hand on her back. He was fighting a loss of control as the cloak of icy indifference he wore so easily seemed to be unravelling thread by thread. When Molly had so unexpectedly voiced her unfulfilled desire, he’d told himself it was an opportunity to give her something she wanted – not so much to settle the debt he felt owed to her on behalf of Sherlock and his family, but because she’d never asked him for anything more than the assurance that his brother was alive. This was something he could do for her, even though it would take him far out of his comfort zone. 

All of which reasoning he’d known was complete _bollocks_ the moment she’d accepted his offer.

Since that night, rather than girding himself to work up the necessary enthusiasm, he’d had to stifle his anticipation, the eagerness for this moment. Mycroft Holmes was, beyond all expectations, in the grip of desire. Desire for Molly Hooper … a professional, discreet, attractive woman – all qualities he’d normally appreciate -- but also a kind, cheerful, warm-hearted optimist, with an almost childlike innocence, a dark sense of humor, and an inexplicable obsession with internet kitten videos. _Dear lord._ He was alarmed to realize that last thought had come with something like affection instead of distaste. Mycroft almost bumped into Molly as she paused on the landing and turned to look at him, being unsure of where they were going. He guided her down the corridor and stopped outside the room she’d used earlier. “Do you need anything from --” tilting his head toward the door.

“Oh, um, yes – give me a few minutes.”

Mycroft opened the door, then pointed toward the double doors at the end of the hallway. “Take whatever time you need.” He waited until she hurried through the door then pulled it to behind her. 

Molly quickly freshened up, changed into a pale blue chemise-style slip dotted with tiny white flowers, a silky white dressing gown and satin slippers, removed her jewelry, then brushed her hair until it lay smoothly down her back. She glanced in the mirror and grimaced at her bright eyes and the heightened color in her face. She wondered if Mycroft would realize it was anticipation and not her usual embarrassment. Then again, maybe it was both.

Within fifteen minutes of Mycroft leaving her, Molly was at his open door, tapping her nails on it. She stepped through, closed the door behind her, then stopped a few feet inside, looking around. His bedroom was enormous. Along the wall to her right, there was a sitting area around a fireplace then two closed doors farther along. Floor to ceiling drapes covered what must be large windows on the wall directly opposite the entrance, and the section to her left was dominated by the largest sleigh-style bed Molly had ever seen. The bedding looked like silk. It was a bed to sink into, dedicated to comfort … and, Molly thought, to pleasure? She flushed upon seeing the covers turned down on both sides and wondered if Mycroft had ever brought anyone here. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. She watched as Mycroft crossed the room and stopped at the foot of the bed. He was wearing dark blue pajama bottoms and a matching dressing gown … and – _oh god_ – she could see the base of his throat and, between the lapels, a strip of bare chest, lightly sprinkled with hair. She swallowed audibly. _I’ve never even seen him without a tie!_

“My dear?” He stretched a hand out, and Molly realized she was still standing near the door. She walked to him and he took her hand, tilting his head, eyebrows raised, toward the sitting area. She then noticed the tray of drinks on a small table between the two wing chairs. 

Molly didn’t want a drink – it would simply prolong the undercurrent of tension she’d felt flowing between them since she came down for dinner. She stepped closer to him and placed her right palm on his chest. She stared at her hand, startled at feeling both his warm skin and how hard his heart was beating, then looked up at him, flushing. “I don’t want a drink,” she whispered. “I just want _you.”_

His face was impassive, but his eyes – _dear god, she’d swear she could feel the heat of his regard._ Molly’s legs actually buckled – _like that damned Victorian heroine,_ she thought dazedly as Mycroft caught her around the waist, shifted his arm higher on her back and slid the other under her knees and carried her to the bed. _Honest to god, I’m going to faint._

Mycroft placed her gently on the covers, then sat on the bed’s edge, his right arm bracing him over her. “Are you all right, my dear?”

Molly had shut her eyes when the room swam out of focus, then kept them closed in embarrassment as she muttered between her lips. “Mycroft Holmes … you know exactly what you’re doing to me.” She slowly raised her lids and met his eyes with an indignant glare. He straightened when she sat up, raising her knees and circling her arms around them. “You are deliberately seducing me.”

“Seduction? I know nothing of romance, Molly.” He said mildly, but his eyes were amused. He stood, looking down at her. “Are you sure you don’t want that drink?”

“You’re a man who can learn a new language in a couple of hours. You’ve had several days – if not the two weeks since the ‘benefits’ chat – to pick up some seduction techniques.” She tilted her head sideways, examining him. “Unless you’re always like this for those few and far between ‘encounters’ – The Ice Man a/k/a Mr. Sex God!”

Mycroft’s brows lifted, but he didn’t try to hide his amusement. “I will admit to making an extra effort tonight, but it was in an attempt to please you – not to make you uncomfortable.”

“Maybe you could tone it down a notch.” Molly dropped her face to her knees. “You have me feeling like some sort of Victorian virgin about to be ravished by her suitor … willing but all atremble.”

Mycroft snorted and sat back down. “I think I can do that.” When Molly lifted her face, he lightly rubbed his thumb over her hot cheek. “Are you ready for this?”

“Oh, yes,” covering his hand with hers.

* * * * * * * * 

Mycroft went around flicking off lights, leaving only the fire and a bedside lamp to illuminate the room. Standing by the bed, he started to untie the sash on his dressing gown, then hesitated when Molly raised a hand toward him. She scrambled up, jerking her own dressing gown off as she knee-walked across the bed. 

Molly blushed when she saw Mycroft’s eyes run down her scantily clad torso and quickly reached for his sash. “Let me.” After slowly undoing the knot, she took the open sides of the dressing gown between her fingers, then paused, eyes lowered to the front of his pajama bottoms. “Is that a box of condoms or are you just happy to see me?”

“It’s a box of condoms” [removing the box from his dressing gown pocket and tossing it onto the bed] _“... and_ I’m happy to see you.” Mycroft quickly shrugged off the dressing gown as Molly fell back, laughing. He followed her onto the bed, crawling until he was above her on all fours, then carefully stretched out and lowered himself onto his forearms until every part of her seemed to be covered by part of him.

“Oh, hmmm –” He covered her mouth, tongue pushing deep and hers parrying his thrust. Her arms were caught between his but she wiggled free, carding the fingers of one hand through the hair at his nape and grasping his back with the other. He gently pushed a thigh between her knees, which Molly spread wide before wrapping her legs around his hips. She was suddenly trembling all over, desperate for him, shoving at his shoulders to make space for her hands to slip back between their bodies. _“ohgodohgodohgodohgod …”_

Mycroft rolled to the side and Molly slid one hand under his waistband, wrapping it around his straining erection, while with the other she tried to push his pajamas down. Her actions were unintentionally thwarted by Mycroft, who was trying to remove her slip in the opposite direction. Their eyes met in amusement, then they quickly separated, arms and legs shoving and kicking at material until all that remained between them was bare skin. Mycroft reached for a condom, swiftly tearing it open. Molly clutched at him as he rolled back onto her, a hot hand sliding up her trembling thigh and between her legs, cupping gently, then more firmly probing her wet slickness with a single long finger, then two. _“ohpleaseohpleaseohplease …”_

Mycroft withdrew his hand, positioned himself carefully, slid slowly into her, then deeper to the hilt, and dropped his head into the crook of her neck, breathing heavily while Molly’s hot gasps tickled his ear. She hitched a leg higher up his back, tilted her hips, then gently scraped her fingernails across his shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine. He raised up onto straightened arms, slowly withdrawing, followed by a deliberately slow thrust, another slow withdrawal, over and over, until his steady pace broke at a choked murmur from Molly, and he quickened to a pounding rhythm, their sweat-slicked flesh slapping together, Molly assisting by using strong thigh muscles to pull him deep with each thrust. She suddenly tightened around him, arching her head back as she came with a gasp. A few more thrusts, then Mycroft groaned his release and collapsed, dropping his head beside hers on her pillow, breath rasping against her throat. 

After a few seconds and a muttered apology, he rolled them over so Molly was resting on his chest, a leg thrown over his hips. She needed more air, so rolled back off him, lying sprawled on her back, staring at the ceiling -- panting and sweaty, feeling boneless, mind-blown, wrung out and … absolutely bloody marvelous. She found just enough energy to turn her head toward him, blow some hair out of her face, and ask hoarsely, “What just happened?”

Mycroft released a deep breath, pursed his lips, then turned his head toward her, a thoughtful look on his face. “I believe, my dear Molly, that in the lowest common vernacular,” he said evenly, lips quirking, “we just fucked each other’s brains out.”

Molly rolled her head back to gaze at the ceiling again. “That’s what I thought.” Inwardly, she felt obliged to chastise herself for the _thrill_ that rocketed through her at hearing Mycroft Holmes let an f-bomb rip.

A brief silence, then they both laughed. Molly turned to look as Mycroft sat up and scooted to his side of the bed, her eyes wandering over the muscled contours of his bare back, taking in a few small patches of freckles and pausing longer at the signs of violence that broke up the pale smoothness of his skin. Those scattered scars bore proof to the fact that he hadn’t always avoided legwork. She heard a light snap as he removed and tied off the condom and tried not to blush. 

Mycroft glanced at Molly over his shoulder as he stood, then shrugged into his dressing gown. Tying the sash, he again asked if she wanted a nightcap. “Or some water?”

“No, I’m good.”

He slowly smiled at that, his eyes hooded – but the expression in them caused a renewed stirring in Molly’s core. She drew a slow breath and suddenly felt a fierce wanting – a desire to drag him onto the bed and make a _feast_ of him. The glint in his eyes flared brighter before he abruptly turned away.

Molly watched him until the door shut, then groaned and turned onto her side, pressing her thighs tightly together and grabbing Mycroft’s pillow to clutch against her breasts. She breathed in his scent and felt her heart madly thumping. Mycroft _Bloody_ Holmes … The Ice Man … Mr. Sex God. She smiled wickedly to herself and closed her eyes.


	4. Don't Be Alarmed, It's To Do With Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: More sex! For "my" Mycroft in this, imagine the extremely sexy way he looks and sounds when he says "How would you know?" to Sherlock ... oh my god!!  
> This is a short-ish continuation of their first night together. Again, I hope I've stayed within "mature" bounds, but the scene as played out in my head is *highly* explicit, so I see that version no matter how I've put it in writing! Please advise if the tags should be changed. (I'm sorry if that's silly to ask, but from my few months of reading Sherlock-related fiction, I got the idea some people want to be warned.)

Molly roused from a light doze as the bathroom door opened and Mycroft flipped off the light. She raised onto her elbow to watch him, her attention caught by his bare feet. As he rounded the foot of the bed, she scooted over and looked over the edge of the mattress.

“What are you doing?” 

“Looking at your feet.”

“My feet?” He sat on the bed and stretched out his left leg, turning his foot from side to side. “What about my feet?”

“I’ve never seen them before,” she said, tilting her head to examine them more closely. “They’re quite large, aren’t they … bony, but elegant.”

He snorted and started to untie the sash on his dressing gown. Molly jumped when his phone vibrated against the bedside table. He gave her a tight smile, then answered with a clipped “yes” as he walked to the dressing room and shut the door. Several minutes later, he opened the door, already dressed in shirt and trousers. “I’m sorry to do this on our first night together, but I have to leave.” He turned away from the door, but left it open.

Molly put on her dressing gown, then went to stand in the doorway. Mycroft’s head was lowered as he finished tying his shoes, and he didn’t see her until he started to stand up. “I didn’t expect this tonight,” he said, shrugging into his waistcoat, “but you should know it’s going to happen again when we’re together, and likely more often than not.” He unbuttoned his trousers to tuck in his shirt, fastened his belt, then chose a tie from a dresser. Molly followed him to the mirror, watching as he slipped the tie around his neck and quickly tied a neat Four in Hand, clipped his watch chain to his waistcoat, inserted cuff links, then donned his jacket – and felt herself becoming more and more aroused as he moved so deliberately through each step of dressing. 

When Mycroft finally turned to her, she smoothed her hands down the lapels of his jacket and rested her palms on his chest. “Molly …”

“I know, you need to go.” She smiled up at him. “It’s just hard to resist putting my hands on you now that I can.” 

He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her firmly. “You can put them on me later.” 

Molly followed him into the bedroom. “I hope to be back in a few hours, but, if not, make yourself at home. Mrs. Collingwood will prepare breakfast and get you anything else you need.” He gave her another quick kiss. “Don’t come down … go back to bed.”

“OK, see you later.” She waited until he’d left, then went into his bathroom, looking around curiously. On seeing the extra deep tub, she decided to have a bath. 

* * * * * * * *

By the time Mycroft’s driver left him at the front door, it was almost 4:30 a.m. He let himself into the house, dealt with the security system, then walked tiredly to the study. After pouring a drink, he sank into his chair, exhaling noisily. He took a sip of whisky, then closed his eyes and tilted his head against the back of the chair. He sat up abruptly, recalling that Molly was upstairs. He frowned, pressing his lips together, and considered her reaction to that. It wasn’t that Mycroft actually forgot her, but he found it easy to compartmentalize parts of his life when necessary – and he needed to put Molly out of his mind to do his job. He took another sip, then left the rest and went upstairs.

* * * * * * * *

Mycroft quietly entered the bedroom, tossed his jacket over a chair, and toed off his shoes. He undid the top button of his waistcoat, then the next, then the third, as he crossed to the bed and stood over the small, duvet-covered mound. All he could see of Molly was the crown of her head.

Mycroft drew a deep breath and released it silently, feeling himself relax. Bending over, he rested a hand on the bed, used the other to uncover her face, and pressed his lips to her temple. Molly’s lips twitched but she didn’t stir. He started to straighten, but paused when he noticed what looked like the edge of a shirt collar. Curious, he pushed the covers farther down and recognized the material as one of his shirts.

He quickly removed the rest of his clothes, then climbed into bed and eased over until he was facing Molly. He ran a finger along her hairline, trailed it around the rim of her ear, then stopped at the pulse in her neck. He watched the sudden flutter of her lashes, then the slow separation of lids, until he was staring into the warmth of her big, slightly unfocused, brown eyes. A crease appeared between her brows, then smoothed as her vision cleared, and a smile slowly spread across her face. _Incandescent._ Mycroft winced as the word came to mind. 

“Mycroft”, she whispered.

“Molly,” he whispered back, causing a shiver to go through her. Mycroft trailed his finger down her throat and took the point of the collar between thumb and forefinger. “What’s this then?” Her lids dropped and her cheeks flushed prettily. Mycroft suddenly had the urge to feast on her, to consume her whole.

“It’s your shirt -- the one you wore yesterday.”

“I put that in the clothes hamper.”

“I took it out.” She peeked at him between her lashes, then her lids dropped again, the pink tinge deepening on her cheeks.

Mycroft tugged the covers down to her waist and could see the buttons were undone except the few between her breasts. “Why are you wearing my dirty shirt?”

“Because it smells like you.” 

Mycroft’s finger moved back to her carotid artery, feeling her pulse throb heavier and faster than before, which sent a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. He froze as Molly threw the covers back, scrambled onto her knees, then shoved him flat on his back. Next thing he knew, she’d climbed onto him, straddling his hips and bracing herself with both hands against his chest. She leant down and kissed him, but quickly sat back up, looking smug.

He considered her expression thoughtfully for several moments, then slipped his hands under the open sides of the shirt and cupped her hips, his fingers pressing firmly against her bare skin. Molly’s eyes widened and she arched forward, tilting her head back with a moan. Taking that as an invitation, he slowly trailed his fingers up her torso, flicked the last buttons open, covered her breasts with his hands, then began rubbing his palms in circles over them. She moaned again when he switched to rolling her nipples between thumbs and forefingers, then gasped when he slid his hands around her shoulders, pulled her forward, and drew her left nipple between his lips, while continuing to roll the right one between his fingers. When Molly began to grind herself against him, Mycroft went rigid, groaning at the moist warmth of her, then rolled until Molly was under him.

Leaning over her, he kissed the side of her neck, trailed his tongue down her throat, across her sternum, and then licked a circle around one breast, then the other. He pulled back to look at Molly, brows lifted. “Oh, god, yes.” He cupped her breasts in both hands, then dipped his head and sucked her left nipple into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, then slowly licking it, before moving to her right nipple and doing the same. He leaned back, wrapping his hands around Molly’s ribs, then slid them along the outside of her hips and down her thighs, before taking hold of her knees. He stopped to look at Molly again and she just groaned and opened her legs. Mycroft lifted himself between them, then bent to press his lips between her breasts. He trailed his lips down her torso, tracing a line across her waist, then dipped his tongue into her navel, causing her to laugh. 

When Mycroft scooted farther down the bed, Molly tensed, swallowing nervously, and clamped her thighs against his hips. He pushed himself up until his face was level with a very red-faced Molly. He stroked her hot cheek until she looked at him, then, feeling his own cheeks flush, whispered, “Let me.”

Molly closed her eyes, pressing her head hard into the pillow, then nodded.

Dragging his hands along the outside of her hips and thighs, Mycroft slid down her body, pressed her knees wide, then trailed his fingers up the back of her thighs until his thumbs met. He paused, slowly running his eyes up her body until his gaze met Molly’s, then lowered his head, and _feasted._


	5. We Meet Up Every Friday For Fish and Chips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual content, including oral [more mature than explicit]

When Molly woke on their first Saturday morning together, she turned her head toward Mycroft’s side of the bed and was surprised to find him still beside her. Even though he hadn’t returned from the office until almost 4:30 a.m., she’d have expected him to be up and about by … [squinting at her phone] 8:30.

Mycroft was on his back, covers at his waist, his far arm bent over his head, his near arm lying between them. His forehead was smooth, his lips full and slightly open, the tender skin of his eyelids so delicate. As she studied his sleeping features, Molly began to feel guilty for invading his privacy, so she slowly edged out of bed, grabbed her phone and stooped to pick up her dressing gown, putting it on as she tiptoed to the door. After a quick glance to make sure Mycroft was still asleep, she left quietly and went to the bedroom she’d used on arrival.

After stripping, she stood at the bathroom mirror, turning from side to side, then looking over her shoulder at her back. Mycroft had been very gentle considering their mutual level of … _enthusiasm,_ but he’d left some evidence of the night’s activities on her body – love bites at the base of her throat and the underside of her left breast, finger marks on both sides of her hips and _[dear lord]_ two just above her knee on the inside of her right thigh. The muscles in her legs felt wobbly, her breasts felt tender, and overall felt she’d been well and thoroughly shagged. _Who’d have thought?_ Well, actually, she wasn’t at all surprised by Mycroft’s, um, _prowess._

She wondered what marks she’d put on _his_ body … and promptly blushed.

Showering brought the night back in even sharper focus. Running the soapy flannel over and in all her curves, angles and nooks found more tender areas, the most tender of which made Molly remember the look on Mycroft’s face when he’d peered up at her from his position _down there._ Flustered, and thinking about facing him for the first time “the morning after,” she quickly finished bathing, brushed her teeth, and put her hair up in a smooth ponytail. She went back to the bedroom and pulled on a pink, cap-sleeved top and skinny jeans, then bright, multi-color socks and her most comfortable trainers. She stood listening at the door for several seconds, then peeked out. Seeing no one, she hurried down the stairs, then stopped again to listen before making her way to the kitchen.

Mrs. Collingwood had just dumped some dough onto a floured board on the island worktop, but stopped to greet her. Molly returned her good morning, then climbed on a stool across from her. “What kind of scones?”

“Cheese-bacon and old-fashioned buttermilk."

“Oh, yum.” Molly glanced around, examining the shiny appliances, banks of cupboards, loads of worktop space, and obviously well-designed workflow. “What a wonderful kitchen! It must be a pleasure to use.”

“Do you cook, Dr. Hooper?” Mrs. Collingwood turned back to work on the scones, but looked up waiting for Molly’s reply.

“I’m more of a baker. I occasionally make some of my favorite dishes but tend to eat out a lot.” Molly grimaced. “It’s become a bad habit, but ordering out is so easy.” Grinning, “Plus, there are fewer dishes to wash!”

The housekeeper laughed. “I know what you mean.” She took the stool across from Molly. “Do you get a chance to bake very often?”

“Not as much as I’d like, though that’s probably a good thing since I enjoy eating the results far too much!” 

They were both laughing, when Mycroft walked in. Molly broke off mid-laugh and tried, but failed, to keep from blushing. A flicker of amusement passed over his face and ended up in his eyes. “Good morning, my dear,” he said smoothly, as he came to a stop beside Molly’s stool. He was standing at least a foot away, but she felt as if he were touching her. “Good morning, Mrs. C.”

“Good morning, Mr. Mycroft,” she returned, smiling broadly. “Dr. Hooper and I have been having a nice chat.”

“About cooking and baking,” Molly added quickly, though surely he wouldn’t think she’d been indiscreet.

“That’s nice,” he said lightly, though she saw his lips twitch. He was most definitely amused. She gave him a withering look, and his lips quirked before his eyes slid away toward the housekeeper. Molly’s breath caught as he rounded the island and went to lean against the worktop behind Mrs. Collingwood, feet and arms casually crossed. He was wearing khaki trousers and a finely woven, light-weight jumper in a pale olive green, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Molly tried not to stare, but was transfixed by the sight of his bare forearms and the heavy gold watch on his left wrist. _Dear god -- bare forearms AND a wristwatch?_ It was the first time Molly had ever seen him dressed in anything other than a suit. 

Molly looked back at Mycroft and saw he was studying her. Something about her caused his face to fall into its usual neutral expression and a crease to appear between his brows. He straightened. “How much time until breakfast?”

“About thirty minutes,” Mrs. Collingwood said, giving him a quick smile. “Do you want it in the dining room?”

“Yes, thank you.” Then rounding the island, he stopped again by Molly. “We’ll be in the sitting room.” Once they were out of view, he pulled her into a light embrace. “Good morning,” he told her again, quietly. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and glanced up with a brief smile. He stepped away, but took hold of her hand as they walked on to the sitting room, then tugged her after him to one of the big wing chairs. Molly squeaked when he pulled her onto his lap and then waited until she looked at him. “What is it, Molly?” Rather than showing the impatience he must surely feel, he sounded kind. Her breath hitched as he ran his hand over the side of her head and gently tugged on her ponytail. “You’ll have to give me a hint.” His head tilted as he studied her. “I really don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong!” She flushed when he arched his brows, then dropped her forehead to his chest. “Oh my god, Mycroft … you simply have _no_ idea, do you.” 

“About?”

She sat back up and exhaled noisily. “About you! That you are _gorgeous_ and an absolutely _perfect,_ um, Friend With Benefits!” She had the extremely rare privilege of seeing Mycroft Holmes’ jaw drop open, before he shut his mouth with a click of teeth. “And I feel a complete fool, but – oh god … I’m embarrassed.” 

“Embarrassed about …?”

She looked at him incredulously. “About what? About last night!”

“You’re embarrassed about having sex? Good lord, Molly, it’s not like it was the first time you –” He broke off, apparently realizing that wasn’t the most tactful response. “Are you always embarrassed in the cold light of day?”

“Of course not,” she said, then gulped. “But you’re the great Mycroft Holmes and I’m - I’m mousy Molly.”

He looked at her soberly for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. He stopped after a few seconds, biting his lip, but his eyes were bright with it when they met hers. “Molly Hooper … you are about the least ‘mousy’ person I’ve ever met.” He bumped foreheads with her. “Tell me, why are you embarrassed?”

“Well, you did do that … thing.”

He leant back and quirked an eyebrow. “That thing? Which one?”

“Oh my god.” Molly clapped her hands over her face, then muttered. “The last bit.”

“Oh. That.”

She quickly dropped her hands at an odd tone to his voice and was astonished to see that his cheeks were a bit pink. Her smile started small, then widened into a delighted grin. “Mycroft Holmes, you’re a bit embarrassed, too!”

“I’m really not,” he said evenly, but glanced away. 

Molly twisted enough to get both arms around his neck and pulled his lips to hers, and they kept kissing until a need for oxygen caused them to pull away. She gave him another quick peck, then moved to get up. “Come on, breakfast must be about ready, and I’d hate to be caught putting on a show for Mrs. C.”

“God forbid,” he agreed, whole-heartedly.

* * * * * * * *  
They had just about finished breakfast when Mycroft turned to look out the window and a beam of sunlight perfectly lit the base of his throat.

“Mycroft!"

“What?”

“Your –” [pointing at his neck].

He raised his brows, but lifted a hand and pressed his fingers around searchingly. “What is it?”

“You have a hickey!”

He dropped his hand. “Indeed, and it’s not the only one.” He looked at her accusingly under his brows, but his eyes were amused. “You have one as well.”

Molly clapped her hand against her throat. “I forgot! Do you think Mrs. C noticed them?

“Most likely.” Rolling his eyes, he continued, “And I wouldn’t be surprised if she knows we had sex.”

“Well, we don’t have to give her proof!”

Mycroft stroked his cheek, lips twitching. “I hope you don’t expect _me_ to wash the sheets.”

He smirked when Molly dropped her head to the table, moaning.

* * * * * * * *

After breakfast, Mycroft took Molly on a tour of the ground floor. She was most taken with the music room. When he opened the door, she went straight to the piano, a Steinway grand, and ran her fingers lightly over the keys, actually forgetting he was there for a moment. He came to stand beside her as she sighed and turned to him, bright-eyed. “What a beautiful instrument!” She turned back and ran her hand over the glossy black surface. 

“I didn’t know you played, my dear.”

“I haven’t for some time – not since I moved to London.” She caressed the keys again. 

“I hope you’ll spend as much time on it as you want. The piano bench and …,” he nodded toward a corner, “that cupboard are filled with sheet music.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, then slid her arms around his waist and squeezed.

* * * * * * * *

Less exciting but more surprising to Molly was the gym area. She circled the treadmill, then stood looking at it, a knuckle caught between her teeth. Turning to Mycroft, she arched her eyebrows. “Do you actually use this?”

“I do, maybe not as often as I should, but I do use it.”

“Hmmm.” She walked on, inspecting the rower, stationary bike, and stair climber. She looked at him again, running her eyes over him from head to foot and back. “Soooo … what do you wear when you work out?”

He huffed in annoyance. “Appropriate clothing, I assure you.”

“Do you mean appropriate-if-the-Queen-happened-by … or appropriate by real world standards -”

He rolled his eyes. “Appropriate.”

“I’d like to see that!” She squealed just a bit when Mycroft grasped her arm firmly and pulled her out of the room.

* * * * * * * *

They wandered through the rest of the downstairs, then moved upstairs. Mycroft briefly opened and shut the doors to several guest rooms without giving Molly a chance even to poke her head in. She protested the third time he did it, but stopped when she glanced around and realized where they were. Before she could say anything, Mycroft grabbed her hand and tugged her around the corner and through the double doors to his bedroom. He finally stopped beside the bed and gave a surprised yelp when she shoved him backwards, making him lose his balance and land in a sprawl. He immediately planted his hands on the bed to sit up, only to fall back again when Molly crawled on top of his lap, knees straddling his hips. He drew a breath, then Molly clamped her mouth on his, her tongue prodding for entry, and a quick battle of tongues ensued, slipping and sliding around each other, interspersed with slow thrusts. She pulled back, staring at him, wide-eyed, as they both tried to catch their breath, then she leaned forward again to suck his bottom lip between her teeth and gently nibble on it.

Mycroft reached around and unfastened her bra, then slid his hands under the lacy cups and over her breasts, rubbing her nipples against his palms. Molly arched back, moaning, then gasped open-mouthed when his hands released her breasts and slid all the way down her back, slipped between her bum and his thighs, and pulled her firmly against his erection. He licked a path from the base of her throat and up over her chin, dragging his open mouth along her jawline and down the side of her neck, stopping with his forehead pressed under her ear, his heavy breaths causing goose pimples to spread across her chest.

Molly leant back, breasts heaving. As she worked her hands between them to unbutton his trousers, Mycroft inhaled sharply and sucked in his stomach to make room for her fingers to grasp his zipper. She began lowering it … very slowly.

“Molly,” he said desperately. And again. Then, groaning: “For god’s sake, Molly -- just do it!”

The zipper finally down, she used both hands to spread the fly open, then carefully reached in, wrapped her right hand around him and lifted him free. She stroked him, root to tip, and back again, until he grabbed her hand. “Wait … take off your clothes.” Molly grabbed his shoulders and backed off his lap, kicking her shoes off and frantically shoving her jeans and knickers down, while Mycroft did the same to his trousers and pants. As soon as they were off, he cupped her bum and lifted her as she straddled him again. Reaching between them, Molly held him in position before slowly sinking down his length. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face into the hollow of his throat, breathing heavily, as he gripped her cheeks and began to work her over him. Their breathing got faster and louder before Mycroft finally slipped a hand between them, edging his fingers lower. Molly gave a loud gasping moan and arched her head so far back her hair brushed against Mycroft’s knees. A few more strokes and he came, groaning Molly’s name against her breast.

They sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, arms wrapped around each other, until Mycroft fell back, taking her with him, and rolled them onto their sides, facing each other -- which left their lower legs still hanging over the edge of the bed. After a few seconds of that, Molly muttered, “Not only is this uncomfortable, but it must look ridiculous.”

Mycroft let go of her and they rolled onto their backs, still trying to catch their breath.

More muttering from Molly. “What time is it?” Then, “I need tissues.”

He glanced at her sideways and rubbed a hand roughly over his face to keep from laughing. Her ponytail had come down and her hair was all over the place, a good bit of it stuck to sweaty areas of her face and neck. He raised up on his elbow and smoothed it off her face and then carefully combed his fingers through the strands, until her hair stretched in a long unbound “tail” across the bed.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “But I still need tissues.”

He huffed but sat up, reached into a drawer of the bedside table, and gave her a handful. He took several more for himself, then fell back onto the bed. Several minutes passed before he sat up again after checking his watch. “Mrs. C will have lunch ready soon.” He stood, then held a hand out to Molly, who groaned but struggled to her feet.

“I’m going to the other bedroom. Meet you at the stairs?”

“Fine.”

* * * * * * * * 

When they showed up in the kitchen just before Mrs. Collingwood was about to call them for lunch, she did indeed know they’d had sex … _again._ Their heightened color, swollen lips and loose-limbed appearance were enough to tell the tale, but she kept the knowledge off her face. It was obvious Molly was still feeling unsure of the situation and was easily embarrassed. Mycroft, of course, was brilliant at hiding his thoughts – and _feelings,_ not that he admitted to having any – but she could read him well enough after fifteen years to tell he liked Molly and was enjoying being with her. She vowed to herself to do anything she could to help keep their relationship -- _whatever_ it was -- going.

* * * * * * * *

After lunch, Mycroft got a call concerning a situation that couldn’t be handled from home. Thirty minutes later, Walter picked up a suited Mycroft, who told Molly he’d see her when he saw her. Molly went to the kitchen and visited with Mrs. Collingwood for a while, then wandered to the music room, where she found a Hanon book of piano exercises and spent the next couple of hours getting her piano fingers working properly again.

Mycroft gave Molly a brief call mid-afternoon to tell her he wouldn’t be back until the wee hours, if then. She told Mrs. Collingwood, who then asked if Molly would like to try out the kitchen. She agreed and they spent several hours together, first making a Victoria Sponge for tea, and then talking about Mycroft’s favorite recipes. Afterwards, she checked the shelves of books in Mycroft’s library and took several selections with her to the sitting room. She stretched out on a sofa and read for a while, but soon fell asleep. 

Mrs. Collingwood woke her when dinner was ready, and, at Molly’s insistence, shared the meal with her. By the time they were through eating, she was officially “Mrs. C” to Molly, and Molly was “Miss Molly.” Molly asked her to leave off the “Miss” but she wasn’t comfortable doing that.

“Well, good golly … OK then,” Molly replied, grinning, and Mrs. Collingwood laughed.

* * * * * * * *

Molly went to bed about 11 p.m. and didn’t rouse when Mycroft returned several hours later. Around dawn on Sunday, however, she roused with a gasp when he curved a warm hand around her sleep-cooled backside and gave her a gentle squeeze. 

* * * * * * * *

Mid-morning found them in the sitting room, sharing a sofa after having tea. Mycroft was at one end, shoes off, socked feet propped on the coffee table, while Molly was propped on a pillow in the opposite corner, stretched out, with her feet tucked under his thigh. They were going through the Sunday papers, although Mycroft didn’t seem interested in anything but the opinion pages. His own opinion was obvious from the occasional snort or scoffing laugh. At one point, he exhaled loudly, following that with an “Oh, bugger.” Molly sat up, and he dropped the edge of his paper, “It’s nothing – just an idiot.” Molly figured he was already aware of all the truly important news.

Awhile later, she realized no pages had been turned for some time, so glanced up, only to find him studying her – probably horrified at her attention to the lifestyle sections. “What?”

He turned to face her, lifting her feet onto his lap and stretching an arm along the back of sofa. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to do today?”

“What are my options?”

“You tell me.”

“Well … what I’d really like …”

“Yes?”

“Is to see you in your workout gear.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, grimacing. “What is the fascination with what I wear for the gym?”

She looked at him curiously. He just stared at her, frowning. “Never mind,” she said, suppressing an eye roll. “So, are you game?” He wrinkled his nose. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“What do you mean –“

“Worth. Your. While.” Molly arched a brow.

Mycroft continued to stare at her, a crease between his brows, then dropped his feet to the floor. “All right.”

* * * * * * * * 

“So was it?”

Mycroft caught his breath, glancing sideways at Molly, who was sprawled across the floor by his treadmill. Naked.

“It was indeed.”

She laughed, delighted, eyeing his discarded gym wear that dangled off the raised arm of an armored knight … on a horse. 

Someday, she’d have to ask him about those statues.

* * * * * * * * 

The next few weekends were similarly spent. Mycroft was gone a lot of the time, but Molly found she had no problem entertaining herself. She thought their arrangement quite a success so far and believed Mycroft viewed it the same way. And the sex was amazing.

After four weekends, three aspects of Mycroft and Molly’s time together were taken for granted: (i) Molly arrived at his home on Friday evening and stayed through Sunday afternoon; (ii) Molly’s landlady had very happily become Toby’s weekend sitter (the extra money Molly gave her for doing so simply being an additional perk); and (iii) Mycroft would have to spend some – if not a good bit -- of the weekend working at the office or in his study. The first thing that really changed their sort-of routine occurred on the Tuesday before their fifth weekend together. Molly knew Mycroft preferred talking to texting, but didn’t want to call him at a bad time, so therefore: 

_\- Hi, M! Schedule change. Am on duty Saturday (staffing issues). Talk later? MH_

Molly was in the middle of a post-mortem when the first text alert sounded. She didn’t expect one from Mycroft since she assumed he would call when he had time. When she could finally check her messages, she was surprised that three of them were from Mycroft:

_\- Good morning, my dear. Sorry to hear that. Would you like to come over Wednesday night? MH_

Then 10 minutes later:

_\- If Wednesday doesn’t suit, Thursday also looks good at this time. MH_

10 minutes later than that:

_\- I could come to your flat either night if that works better. MH_

Molly’s reply 30 minutes later:

_\- Sorry! Was doing PM. Happy to come over either night. You’re ALWAYS welcome at mine! MH_

Molly’s phone rang less than a minute after she sent the text. “Good morning, Molly. I hope the staffing issues aren’t making your day worse than usual.” 

“Good morning, Mycroft!” Molly answered, cheerfully. _(Had Mycroft been impatient for her to reply? Was he actually going to miss her company this weekend?!?)_ “No, nothing’s affected so far other than the weekend schedule.” 

"So …,” he said, in what Molly now recognized as his I’m-deliberately-sounding-casual tone, “would you like to come over tomorrow night?”

“That works for me. My shift is over at 5:00, but I’ll need to go home first. Don’t send Walter – I’ll take a taxi.”

Mycroft didn’t answer immediately, then, “All right, my dear. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

So Molly ended up spending her first Wednesday night at Mycroft's – and, as an added bonus, he wasn’t pulled away for work, other than taking one brief call after dinner. They were in bed by 10 p.m. and took full advantage of an uninterrupted night. They were also able to enjoy a leisurely breakfast together before heading for work. (Mycroft didn’t tell Molly, but he delayed his normal departure time by thirty minutes in order to give her a lift to Bart’s.)

* * * * * * * *

Molly occasionally tried to come up with ways to shock Mycroft ... such as the Sunday morning when she decided she’d suffered alone for long enough. He’d received a call as they were finishing breakfast and immediately went upstairs. Molly followed him into the bedroom, sitting on the bed while he headed for the bathroom. When she heard him open the door to the dressing room, she went to her usual spectator’s position at the doorway. Mycroft seemed to take it for granted now that she’d follow him, but apparently had no real understanding of why she did so.

She watched as he dropped his towel, and bent to pull pants, then trousers, up his long, lean legs. Molly’s breath caught audibly, so she quickly widened her eyes, trying to look innocent when he glanced her way. Trousers still unzipped, he turned to the closet and pulled a shirt off a hanger. While Molly watched every flex of muscle, he pushed one arm through the shirt sleeve, then the other, and stood there, shirt hanging open, while asking her about her plans for the day. Eyes riveted to that strip of bare chest, Molly ran through her usual list of pursuits without having to think about what she was saying. _(How can he be so oblivious?) _He then mentioned some sheet music he thought she might like to try out … _hmmm, sure_ … as he methodically pushed each shirt button through its hole, working his way from the shirt tail to collar. She pressed her lips tightly together to hold back a moan as he reached around and started tucking the shirt into his trousers. Tuck, pause … tuck, pause … she was simply going to go mad. He glanced down as he ran the zipper up its track and Molly had to turn a whimper into a cough. He looked at her, concerned. “Are you all right, my dear?” __

She smiled weakly, “Just a tickle in my throat.

He finished fastening his trousers, then his belt, and turned toward the rack with his shoes.

“Mycroft …”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you realize you get dressed the exact same way every time? Each item in the same order?”

He blinked slowly at her, looking confused. “Well, yes, I suppose I do.” He looked around the room, from the rows of suits and shirts to racks of shoes to dressers and built-ins. “Is there something wrong with that, my dear?”

“Not at all, but … just for once, I wondered if you could shake things up … do something out of order.” She looked at him, wide-eyed, a hopeful look on her face. He looked at his shoe rack again, then turned back to her. 

“What next, then?"

“Hmmm … anything you want, but how about you leave your shoes and socks until last,” she suggested, innocently.

Mycroft hesitated _[all his little obsessiveness cells must be bouncing off each other in alarm, she thought],_ then slowly pulled his waistcoat off the hanger and shrugged into it. Molly suddenly felt guilty, because he honestly looked a bit … stressed? But then he leveled his shoulders like a brave little soldier, selected a tie from his dresser, and moved in front of the mirror. Molly watched as the knot was formed and he smoothed the tie against his shirt front. She then braced herself for what was coming next ....

His head lowered as he clipped his watch chain to the waistcoat, then picked up his cufflinks and slid the first one through its hole, then the other, his dexterous fingers moving oh so slowly and deliberately. When finished, he shot his cuffs, and Molly had to grit her teeth to hold back a moan. He started toward the row of suits, and Molly said, “It would probably be better to get the shoes and socks out of the way before putting your jacket on.” He changed course and settled on the padded bench. As he reached for his socks, Molly asked, “How soon do you have to leave?”

He paused, checking his pocket watch. “Twenty minutes.” He flinched when Molly suddenly sat beside him, resting her hand on his knee, before sliding to the floor in front of him. _“What are you doing?”_

She put her other hand on his other knee, then moved between them. “Would you mind closing your eyes?

He just stared at her, blankly … but then his eyes focused. “Yes.”

“Then why haven’t you – ahh, I get it. Would you _please_ close your eyes?”

“Why do I need to close them?”

“Close your eyes, Mycroft!” She waited until he did so, then dragged her hands up his thighs, ignoring his muffled grunt. Her fingers slid around his legs to grab the back of his thighs and she pulled. “Scoot forward a bit –” [which he did] “… now lie back and think of England.” Molly gasped. “Ooh, that certainly got a response.” She glanced up as she unbuttoned his trousers and saw a gleam of color between his lids. “Close your eyes and keep them closed."

A few seconds later, he hissed as she slowly lowered his zipper, then tugged the two layers of clothing down, tucking them carefully out of the way. He groaned as she ran her thumb over him, then lightly grasped him. She checked to make sure his eyes were closed, then shimmied closer, and gave him a tentative lick. Mycroft tensed, and his thighs tightened against her. She drew her hand up his length, tightening her grip as she went along, then back down again. Up and down once more, then she hesitated at his strangled, “Molly, you’re killing me.” 

She lowered her head, flattened her tongue, and drew it slowly from root to tip, then took him into her mouth. He groaned, loudly. She released him with a swirl of her tongue, then smacked her lips. “How soon do you have to leave?”

“I can be late.”

And he was.

* * * * * * * *

The second change to their usual routine affected their sixth weekend together and was caused, indirectly, by Molly’s landlady’s sister’s brother-in-law. Mycroft had been incredulous that a minor medical event concerning such a distant by-marriage-if-even-that relation necessitated Mrs. Harrison’s attendance at the patient’s bedside. Molly figured Mycroft’s reaction was due less to a lack of understanding of normal extended-family dynamics and more to his coming to grips with the realization that he’d need to welcome Toby to St. John’s Wood for the weekend or likely have to do without Molly’s company. (Even Mycroft hesitated to ask Anthea to act as substitute cat-sitter.)

So Toby in his carrier, along with his litter box and the other minimum accoutrements required for his weekend stay, arrived in style that Friday evening. Walter had shown no surprise at having a feline passenger, but Molly figured it was certainly a first. She’d also dealt with another first for Mycroft’s household by pre-arranging a location for Toby’s litter box with Mrs. Collingwood.

Toby had proved to be a well-behaved guest during the first twenty-four hours of his visit. By the end of Hour Twenty-Five (a/k/a 8 p.m., Saturday), Mycroft had proved to be susceptible to Toby’s wiles. 

Molly went looking for the cat and eventually found him in the study, curled on his new human’s lap, enjoying an absent-minded scratching provided by a work-distracted Mycroft. On being caught at it, a scowling Mycroft grumbled that the cat was a persistent pest. Molly apologized and took Toby away, scolding him for bothering Mycroft when he was so busy. (She just hoped Mycroft couldn’t tell how firmly her tongue was stuck in her cheek.)

By the time Molly and Toby left Sunday evening, Mycroft considered the new arrangement would be the norm, and Mrs. Collingwood had added a litter box and litter to her shopping list.

* * * * * * * * 

Six weeks along, no one knew about Mycroft and Molly … or so they thought. Anthea had figured it out, but was too discreet to let that fact slip – even to Mycroft.

The proverbial cat, however, was about to be let out of the bag.


	6. Of Course, You Go In For That Sort Of Thing Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how the sexy, powerful Mycroft is also an older sibling who bickers with his younger brother and a son who (sometimes) becomes a drama queen with his parents and is still subject to being intimidated by his Mummy. ("Are you smoking?" NO!) So this chapter has a good bit of fluff, but finally ends with MORE SEX!

*********************************************************  
_Obviously Anthea figured it out on her own …_  
*********************************************************

“He has a new spring in his step these days.” Molly turned from the window, glancing at Anthea, who continued to type on her phone, head down. Molly looked away without replying. 

Mycroft had insisted on sending his driver to pick Molly up on her return from a pathology conference in Oxford. She’d walked out of Paddington Station and found Anthea leaning against the gleaming black car and Walter waiting at the boot to take her suitcase. Walter returned Molly’s greeting, but Anthea had simply opened the passenger door with a flourish and waved her in.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

“And he’s looking _extremely_ fit,” Anthea paused as Molly turned and their eyes met, then continued, “… as a number of well-connected, but unfortunately indiscreet, individuals have told me. Being a busybody is apparently a prerequisite for being a politician or government official.”

Molly again didn’t reply, turning to watch the traffic competing for position along Edgware Road. Silence reigned as Walter deftly maneuvered the car around slower moving vehicles, taking backstreets where possible to avoid the worst traffic snarls, and eventually came to a smooth stop at the curb outside Molly’s block of flats. Molly pushed the door open and scooted to the edge of the seat. 

As Molly exited the car, Anthea tried again, in a deadpan voice. “That was a thank you, by the way.”

Once on the pavement, Molly bent down and finally replied. “Oh, don’t thank _me_ … it’s been my absolute _pleasure.”_ She drawled, then closed the door with a snap.

Inside the car, Anthea smirked as she watched Molly stroll away … with a new spring in her step.

____________ 

Later that day, Anthea was at her desk, fingers flying nimbly across the computer keys, when her boss strolled in, swinging his umbrella jauntily and greeting her without pausing. She called “good morning, sir” just as his door clicked shut.

Fifteen minutes later, Anthea lightly tapped on his door before entering, then set a cup of tea by Mycroft’s right hand. He was studying a file, brows knitted in a frown, as she settled herself in a chair across from him. Anthea continued to work on her phone until Mycroft sighed, sat back and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Anything else?”

For the next hour, Anthea updated Mycroft on overnight field reports, sent texts per his instructions, and answered her emails until he at last turned his attention to his laptop, giving her a brief wave of dismissal. Anthea uncrossed her legs and started to stand, but paused. “Dr. Hooper’s conference talk was apparently a success.” Mycroft looked up from the file he was studying, face impassive. Anthea cleared her throat. “Just thought you’d like to know she looked well today.”

His gaze returned to the file and he again dismissed her with a flick of fingers. Anthea left, closing the door quietly. A few minutes later, Mycroft pulled his phone from his jacket, pressed a number, and leaned back in his chair. “So … Friday?” He listened for a while, smiled, and then slid the phone back in his pocket and focused on work.

*******************************************************  
_While Greg got some unintentional assistance ..._  
******************************************************* 

The following Wednesday, Molly was sitting in the lab, going over notes for her lecture, but glanced up when the doors swooshed open. She shot to her feet, eyes wide, and a delighted smile spread across her face. “Mycroft!”

He stopped just inside the doors, swinging his umbrella in a full circle before hanging it on a coat hook by the door. His expression warmed as he watched her hurrying toward him. “Good morning, my dear,” he said, running his eyes down her charcoal-gray jacket and skirt, to low black heels, and then back up to the lace-edged collar of a cream-colored blouse. The suit was professional, the blouse added a more feminine touch, but the look lacked Molly’s personal style. _It needs some more color._

When Molly noticed the lab assistant was still sitting at a microscope across the room, she stopped a step away from Mycroft, twisting her hands together at her waist to keep herself from reaching for him. “When did you get back?” She asked quietly. Their plans for the previous weekend had been cancelled when Mycroft suddenly had to fly to Geneva on the Thursday, so they hadn’t seen each other since the Sunday before that – a total of ten days. 

Mycroft rocked on his heels, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’m actually on the way to the office from the airport now,” he replied, then cleared his throat. “It wasn’t much of a detour to come by here for a few minutes.”

Molly unconsciously leant toward him, then abruptly straightened, blushing. “Um, would you like a quick coffee? In my office?”

“Thank you, my dear.” He waited while Molly retrieved her notes, then followed her down the hallway. Their eyes met as he closed her office door behind him, then they were in each other’s arms. When they finally separated to suck in needed breaths, Molly gasped against his throat, mumbling, “Oh god … I missed you.” Mycroft pulled her mouth back to his, both of them moaning. They jerked apart at a sharp rap against the door. When the second knock came, Mycroft was standing casually at the window, hands in his trouser pockets, and Molly was sitting behind her desk. “Come in.”

The door slowly opened, and Greg Lestrade leaned his head in, quickly glanced around the office, then pushed the door fully open. “Molly?”

Molly stood and went round the desk to greet him. “Hi, Greg. What’s up?”

“Mike Stamford told me you were here, preparing to instill a bit of needed wisdom into some medical students.” He grinned. “I was upstairs visiting one of our detectives who had surgery yesterday and just thought I’d say hi.” He looked over her shoulder. “Good morning, Mycroft.”

Mycroft turned, tilting his head back. “Detective Inspector.”

Greg studied him for a few moments, then turned back to Molly, a gleam in his eyes. “Well, as I said, this was just meant to be a quick hello. I better get back to the station.” A sideways glance, “Mycroft.” Mycroft nodded at him. A squeeze of Molly’s shoulder, “Take care, Molly.” Greg glanced at Mycroft again, then left, shutting the door behind him.

Molly exhaled loudly, rubbing her temple, then looking at Mycroft in some sort of distress. 

He frowned. “What is it?”

“Red lips.”

“What?”

“My lipstick.”

Mycroft paused, a furrow between his brows. “And it’s on me?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I hardly ever wear it and-“

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he walked to her. “If Lestrade noticed, I’m sure he’ll be discreet.”

“Oh, he noticed all right.”

“Yes, well.” Mycroft smiled down at her and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. “Duty calls, and you need to get ready to meet the little horrors.” He raised her chin with a finger and gave her a firm kiss. “In for a penny …” But he did pull some tissues from her dispenser and wiped the traces of lipstick from his mouth.

Molly laughed. “I’ll walk you out.”

_______________ 

A text alert sounded as she walked back to her office.

_So, how long has THAT been going on? GL_

Molly rolled her eyes.

_Have no idea what you’re talking about! (But don’t tell SH) MH_  
_Have you gone mad? Him - really?? GL_  
_It’s good, really good. MH_  
_OK, Molls, but he better treat you right. GL_  
_He does. MH_

Ten minutes later:

_SH doesn’t know? GL_  
_Nope. MH_  
_Once he does, can I tell him I beat him to it? GL_  
_Prat! OK - fine. MH_

 

**************************************************

_And once the boys and Mrs. H found out …_

**************************************************

Two weeks later, Molly stepped through the door to Baker Street and pushed it shut with her bum. She smiled on hearing the rumble of male voices coming down the stairwell, then skipped lightly up the stairs, ponytail bobbing. She came through the open door of 221B, glanced around quickly, and paused at seeing Mycroft, who was standing in front of the fireplace, pinching the bridge of his nose, mouth set in a tense line. John was at the desk, face buried in a newspaper. On the other side of the desk, Sherlock was smirking at his brother over the screen of his laptop.

“Hi, everyone!” She chirped happily. “Sherlock, I have the fingers you wanted –“

“Shut up, Molly,” Mycroft snapped, caustically.

Molly flinched, then straightened. “I-I-I’m sorry for interrupting.” She stepped sideways toward the kitchen. “I’ll just put these in the fridge.”

At her first hesitant stammer, Mycroft dropped his hand, threw Sherlock a narrow-eyed glare, then took a step toward Molly. She didn’t look at him, but he saw her lips tremble before she sucked them between her teeth. Mycroft again looked daggers at Sherlock, who was staring back at him with an arrested expression. John simply looked thunderstruck by Mycroft’s rudeness to Molly.

Molly returned to the sitting room but continued toward the door without stopping. “I’ve got to get back to Bart’s – ”

“Molly, wait.” Mycroft moved quickly to catch her arm. She froze in place, but didn’t look at him. “Molly …,” he said, softly. “I’m sorry.” He ignored the choking noise from one of the idiots behind him and kept his focus on Molly. She slowly raised her gaze to his, and he felt a brief stabbing twinge somewhere in his core at the expression in her eyes – no tears, no anger, just what looked like understanding. “Forgive me?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling, before turning toward Sherlock and John. “But I still have to … _Sherlock?”_ She walked toward him, a reluctant Mycroft following her. “Sherlock? Are you all right?”

Sherlock was staring in their direction, expression fixed, blank eyes slowly blinking. John leaned over the desk and spoke right by his ear. “Sherlock?” Then more forcefully, _“Sherlock!”_

Sherlock blinked twice more, then his eyes shifted toward John before quickly snapping sideways to Molly and Mycroft. “You – you …” He broke off. “The two of you are …” He started blinking again, rapidly.

“Wait – what?” John looked at them, then at Sherlock, then back at them. “What? _No._ You aren’t …?” His jaw dropped in astonishment, then a look of horror passed over his face before he dropped it into his palm, moaning.

Mycroft moved a step closer, bent over the desk between them, and in the most snarky, smug voice Molly had ever heard, said smoothly, “Oh, yes indeed ... and quite a lot actually.”

John simply groaned and dropped his head the rest of the way to the desk. Sherlock’s blinking became a flutter. Mycroft straightened, put a hand on Molly’s back, and started toward the door, grabbing his umbrella with his free hand. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Molly’s lips were quivering as they started down the stairs. She bit them, trying to hold in the laughter that was threatening to burst from her.

_“Damn it, Mycroft!_ I think you’ve finally broken Sherlock!”

Mycroft ignored John’s exasperated yell as they reached the bottom of the stairs, then moved to the front door. He stopped and turned Molly toward him. “Molly ...”

“It’s all right … truly. I know I wasn’t the target.” She looked around, then lifted up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss. “Believe me, I understand completely. Sherlock was winding you up.” She frowned. “I’m sorry, though, for causing you to let the cat out of the bag after we’d done such an amazing job of keeping Sherlock unaware of –” [waved a hand between them].

“Don’t worry about it, my dear.” Then, smirking: “Besides, I quite enjoyed their reaction.”

“Ahhh, yes.” Molly smirked back at him. “Sherlock will be stewing over this news for weeks.”

“Precisely.” He stepped closer, lowering his head - 

“Molly? _Mycroft?!?”_ They quickly turned toward Mrs. Hudson, who was standing outside her door, looking astonished.

“Oh - hi, Mrs. H,” Molly said, blushing. “Um, I think John may need your help upstairs.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson,” Mycroft said, with a nod, then opened the door and ushered Molly toward the waiting car.

 

************************************************  
_Could Mummy and Dad be far behind?_  
************************************************

One Saturday morning in early September, Molly had just finished her shower and was towel-drying her hair when she heard three quick raps on the bathroom door. Before she could answer, another six raps rang out sharply. She reached over and opened the door, smiling. Mycroft quickly ran his eyes down and back up her towel-wrapped body before settling on her face. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, she’d have said his expression looked a bit … frantic?

“Molly.”

“Yes?”

“Molly.” A couple of slow blinks.

“What’s wrong?”

“My parents –“

“Oh my god … are they OK?” He just stared blankly. She grabbed his arm and shook it. “Are they OK, Mycroft?”

He focused on her again. “What? Yes, they’re fine –” [swallowing, audibly] “… and on their way.”

“On their way where?”

_“Here!”_ He actually shouted. “In ten minutes!”

“Out …” [shoving him toward the bedroom door]. “Downstairs now! Check the sitting room. Get my briefcase from your study and put it in the hallway. What about the kitchen? Oh my god – I can’t remember what’s where. They won’t be coming into your bedroom, will they?”

He flinched, but shook his head. “No, they don’t come in here. OK, right – I’m going downstairs and you’re -“

“Getting dressed and will be right behind you. Now go!”

She turned toward the bathroom, paused, then went back to lean her head out the bedroom door. “Mycroft, you do realize between the two of us we’re more than eighty years old?” He just turned and glared. “Right-e-o. Go on” [waving him toward the stairs]. She did a snort-chuckle combination, shaking her head at Mycroft freaking out at the idea of his parents catching them _in flagrante delicto_ – or, looking down at herself, certainly close to it. Wincing at the sight of her bare legs, she rushed back to the bathroom, whipped the towels off head and body, grabbed her clothes and dressed frantically, getting her bra twisted in the process. After spending a frustrating thirty seconds getting it untwisted, she shoved her feet into shoes, then rubbed her hair with a dry towel until it looked like a bird’s nest. Tears came to her eyes when she tried to comb through the resulting tangles, but at least her hair looked relatively dry. She quickly braided it, tossed the brush on the counter, and fled the room, grabbing her handbag as she went. She ran down the stairs double-time and called to Mycroft.

He stepped out of the study, Molly’s briefcase in hand, gave her the once over, then nodded, taking a deep breath. Molly tried to slow her own breathing. “Did you hide everything?”

“There wasn’t much. Calm down.”

“Calm down? Me? Have you looked in a mirror?” She pointed at him. “Your hair is sticking up, your tie is crooked, and, and – _where is your waistcoat?”_

At that moment, they heard a chime from the hallway security panel, indicating the front gate was opening. They looked at each other, then darted off in opposite directions, with Mycroft heading to his study and Molly to the front hall.

Mycroft grabbed his jacket and waistcoat from a chair, then hurried to the ensuite, where he checked his tie in the mirror, straightened his hair and donned the rest of his suit. He took another deep breath, let it out, then strolled casually toward the front door with his customary elegance.

Molly was already in her coat, briefcase and handbag in one hand, the other hand rubbing her temple. She looked at him with a frown. “Right … I’ve just picked up - what? Why am I here?”

Mycroft hummed a second, then: “You were going to be in the area so offered to bring me the post-mortem report on one of my agents.”

“But how did I know where you live?”

“Molly! Stop panicking.” He snorted, then gave her a wry smile. “You were right earlier. This is ridiculous. I don’t do this –“ [waving his hand around] “… this type of farcical scene, straight out of some idiotic comedy. For god’s sake, I’m not only forty-five years old, but deservedly known for keeping my cool in the most stressful situations – which, by the way, this certainly _isn’t.”_ Now Mycroft was the one rubbing his forehead.

She patted his arm. “Yes, but it’s your parents – and I’m your bit of stuff.” She ignored his scowl. “Everyone acts weird when it comes to their parents … and sex.”

Mycroft looked affronted. “I’ve never considered myself as ‘everyone’.”

Molly rolled her eyes, then sobered when a car door slammed and Mycroft stepped past her toward the door. “Remember that I’ve actually met your parents before.” He glanced back at her, brows raised. “At Sherlock’s? After his return?”

Mycroft grimaced at the mention of his brother, then straightened his jacket and opened the door with a flourish, just as his mother reached the front step. “Mummy.” He flinched when Violet – in full view of Walter – wrapped her arms around him and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. She pulled back and looked more closely at his face, before dropping her gaze down to his feet and slowly back up.

“Mycroft, you look very well.” Her eyes widened. “Have you actually taken a holiday for a change?”

Mycroft just gave her a weak smile and looked over her shoulder. “Morning, Dad.”

“Good to see you, son,” Siger replied, before following the two of them through the door.

His mother stopped abruptly on seeing Molly standing by the hall table, a bright smile on her face. Mycroft could see she was fidgeting nervously, but trying to hide it. “Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Holmes … hi!”

“Dr. Hooper?” Violet said in a wondering tone, glancing sideways at Mycroft, but he didn’t look at her. “How nice – but unexpected – to see you again … and _here.”_ Both his parents went to Molly and shook her hand warmly.

“I’m happy to see you both again.” Still using that overly bright voice. “Have you come to town to see some shows?”

“Yes, we have tickets for – you weren’t leaving, were you, dear? Can’t you stay for a while?”

“I’d like to, but I need to get back to Bart’s. I just came to bring Mr. Holmes a report on one of his employees.”

Mycroft broke in. “Yes, er, Dr. Hooper was just leaving when you called.” He saw his mother’s glance move from him to Molly before she looked at his father and raised her brows. He knew he was in for an interrogation and suddenly decided he wasn’t going to face it alone. “But I’m sure Dr. Hooper could stay long enough for some tea,” he continued smoothly. Molly gave him an incredulous look and he stared back at her, blandly.

“Why are we all standing out here?” Mycroft waved his hand toward the sitting room, just as his housekeeper came into the hall from the kitchen. “Ah, Mrs. Collingwood. As you see, my parents have arrived for a visit. Would you please ask Walter to take their bags up and then bring us some tea.” 

“Certainly, sir.” Mrs. Collingwood smiled at his parents as they shed their outerwear and followed Mycroft and Molly to the sitting room.

\------------ 

Violet and Siger settled themselves on one of the sofas. Molly hesitated, then sat across from them on the other since the nearest chair was too far away to be sociable. Mycroft had no choice but to do the same. He sat on the opposite end from Molly, an empty cushion between them, then leaned back, crossing his legs. Molly slowly ran her eyes down his form, admiring the elegant stretch of his long body – from the top of his head to the foot that he was casually swirling in a slow circle. Feeling mesmerized, she watched the shiny toe of that shoe make another rotation, then forced her gaze up and away – only to be caught by his father’s twinkling eyes. 

Mr. Holmes smiled at her, crow’s feet wrinkling, and Molly awkwardly smiled back, feeling her face flush. He took pity on her and turned to Mycroft. “Sorry, son, for not giving you notice of our visit, but your mother –”

“Decided to surprise you and not allow you time to come up with any excuses.” She leaned toward him, a stern look on her face. “Sherlock assured us you were in town, so we bought an extra ticket to several shows over the next three days. I hope you’ll be able to go to at least one of them with us, Mycroft.”

“My schedule is rather packed, Mummy –”

“Well, see what you can do. I’m sure Anthea can free up some time for you.” Violet leant back and turned toward Molly. “What about you, Dr. Hooper – do you ever get out to shows?”

“Call me Molly, please. No, it’s pretty rare that I go to any plays. I think about it, but never seem to finalize plans.”

“Mycroft,” Violets said, archly, “why haven’t you taken Molly …” [paused to smile at her] “to a show?”

“Wh-what? _No!_ We’re not dating, Mrs. Holmes.” Molly looked at Mr. Holmes, then back at Mrs. Holmes, but avoided looking at Mycroft. “We’re, um … well, I believe we’re friends – or, you know, I’m a friend of Sherlock’s and any friend of Sherlock’s is a friend of …” She trailed off uncertainly, then flushed.

Mycroft mentally rolled his eyes and waited for the next lob. He caught his dad’s eyes and braced for a new player to enter the game. Siger took a breath and opened his lips –

“Mycroft …?” His attention snapped back to his mother on hearing the delight in her voice. “When did you get a cat?” 

Molly gasped as they all turned to watch Toby stroll in, leap gracefully onto Mycroft’s knees, do a complete turn, then butt his head against Mycroft’s arm. Without thinking, Mycroft started scratching Toby’s ear, then winced and dropped his hand. “He’s not mine - he belongs to Mrs. C,” he said, at the same time Molly said, “Toby’s mine.” They looked at each other, Mycroft accusingly and Molly apologetically.

Violet grabbed Siger’s arm and asked excitedly, “So you’re living together?” 

Mycroft exhaled noisily. “No, we are _not.”_ He sighed again. “Dr. Hooper –” [Molly and his mother both snorted.] _“Molly_ … visits occasionally.”

“And brings her cat?”

Molly looked with interest at Mycroft, twisting to sit sideways in order to have a better view. She caught Siger’s gaze again and this time grinned at him mischievously.

“Molly’s landlady wasn’t able to keep him –”

“So her landlady usually keeps Toby while Molly ‘visits’?”

With difficulty, Mycroft kept his face in its usual neutral mask and stared impassively at his mother for several moments. He’d faced down dictators, double agents and terrorists without blinking, but found himself outplayed this time. As a certain dominatrix once said, know when you are beaten. “All right, Mummy.” He glanced at Molly, then scowled on seeing the amusement she was making no attempt to hide. He raised his right hand, palm outward, fingers spread wide, and started ticking off.

Forefinger down: “We started having tea together very occasionally while Sherlock was away so I could assure Molly he was alive.”

Middle finger down: “We continued to have tea occasionally after Sherlock returned because –” [glanced at Molly] “… we unexpectedly came to find our little chats -” [glanced at Molly again, eyebrows raised] “… pleasant – if only as an opportunity to complain about said brother.”

Ring finger down: “We started occasionally spending time together here about two months ago -” [pinky down] “… and shared the news with Sherlock two weeks ago. My enjoyment since then over his strong reaction to the news has gone a long way toward paying him back for some of his recent antics.”

Thumb down: “That’s it, that’s where we are, that’s all you’re getting out of me – _and it’s more than I ever intended to share with anyone!”_ Mycroft had leant further and further over the coffee table toward his mother and the last words were hissed between gritted teeth. He flinched when Toby hissed back at him at being rather flattened by Mycroft’s chest.

Violet stared at Mycroft in astonishment. He glanced at his father, found him looking highly entertained, then slumped back in the corner of the sofa, covering his eyes with the back of his hand. “Dear god, I’m in _agony.”_

Violet and Siger rolled their eyes at the sudden reappearance of their elder drama queen, then both of them arched their brows, turned toward Molly and smirked. Siger gave her a discreet thumb’s up, and Molly lost it. She fell forward, grabbed her calves, face against her knees, and started giggling. She could feel the weight of six eyes – eight counting Toby’s – staring at her head, but she kept her face down and laughed until she hiccupped. She sat back abruptly, tucked her hair behind her ears, then straightened her face.

“Sorry.” Molly held her sober expression for several seconds, then covered her mouth, but still couldn’t prevent more giggles from escaping. Siger started to laugh, and Violet joined in. Molly glanced at Mycroft, who was still slumped in the corner of the sofa, staring at the ceiling, head tilted against the back cushion, one hand resting on the sofa arm, the other scratching Toby behind the ear. 

With a slight rattle of china, Mrs. Collingwood came through the open door, tea tray in hand. “Well, it’s good to see you all having such a nice visit,” she said, placing the tray on the coffee table.

At that, Mycroft gave in and laughed with the rest of the loons.

Molly sobered enough to thank Mrs. Collingwood, who looked at them curiously before leaving.

____________ 

After finishing their tea, Violet and Siger went upstairs to freshen up, leaving Mycroft and Molly in the sitting room.

“So,” Molly drawled, “am I staying or going?” She’d bent one leg under her after kicking off her shoes. Mycroft was still slumped back, eyes contemplating the ceiling. “Are you looking for cracks?”

He turned his face toward Molly, giving her a withering look. “Very funny.”

Mycroft sat up, lowered Toby to the floor, and stood, straightening his jacket as he headed for the door. He paused there without turning. “Stay if you like,” then walked out – only to lean back in and add, deadpan, “but we’re not having sex. You make _far_ too much noise.” He smirked at Molly’s blush, then vanished down the hall.

____________ 

Much later that night, Molly was roused by warm hands cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing back and forth over her nipples. Mycroft was spooned behind her, one knee pressed between hers, as his hand pushed her nightshirt aside, then trailed his fingers slowly down her stomach to curve between her legs. Molly moaned, arching as his fingers probed gently, then she abruptly gasped and tried to move away. “I thought you said no sex!”

Mycroft rubbed his lips over the skin of her nape, murmuring, “Haven’t I mentioned that this room is sound-proofed?” Molly huffed, then moaned again as he ran his hand down the inside of her upper leg to her knee, lifted it to allow room for him to position himself more fully between her thighs, then lowered her leg to rest along the top of his. Molly’s breath caught as his thigh pressed more firmly upwards, then she tilted her hips back to rub herself against him. “Oh god, Mycroft!” He used his weight to roll her further onto her stomach, at the same time using his thigh to separate her legs, then slowly pushed into her. Once in place, he began a gentle rocking motion, which Molly matched, grinding slowly and steadily for some minutes, until she reached back to clutch at Mycroft’s hip. “Oh god, oh god, harder!” He grabbed a pillow and rolled back just enough to push it under Molly’s stomach, then pressed forward, rolling her over it, before gripping the side of her hip to pull her upwards as he pushed himself onto his knees with the other hand. Molly pulled another pillow under her face and screamed into it when Mycroft thrust forcefully, and again, keeping up a hard, fast pace. Molly’s breath caught when he held deep, slipped his hand between them, then returned to a fast steady pace, his fingers stroking in tandem. One stroke, two, then she convulsed, body shaking, turning her head from the pillow to take deep shuddery breaths, and then gasping as another orgasm ripped through her when Mycroft thrust deep, gripped her hips hard, and came with a choked-off shout. He rolled off her to lie flat on his back, chest heaving.

When his breathing slowed, Mycroft rolled onto his side, arm bent under his head, and stroked a hand down Molly’s back. She tugged the pillow out from under her and stretched flat on her stomach, turning her face toward him. She sighed, then reached behind her to take his hand and thread their fingers together. “I don’t even have enough energy to kiss you good night.” 

Mycroft raised up on an elbow and leaned toward her. “That’s all right … I do,” kissing her gently, then rolling onto his back. “Good night, Molly.”

“Hmmmm … g’night.”


	7. Why Are We Doing This ... We Never Do This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter of complete fluffiness

It was a glorious October day … that early morning crispness in the air, the sunlight filtering through trees along the roadside, their colorful leaves dancing in a gentle breeze, casting flickering shadows on the road, clear blue sky seeming to stretch out forever over distant green fields … the type of day to make one glad to be alive … ahh, the joys of autumn --

“Just look at it -- quiet, calm, peaceful … Isn’t it _ghastly?”_ Martyred gloom from the back seat.

Followed by martyred whinging from the front, “Why are we doing this … we _never_ do this.”

Molly, at the wheel, rolled her eyes. “We’re traveling together because it’s silly and wasteful to take separate transportation for a quick visit with your parents.” She snorted. “And even more ridiculous that two middle-aged men ...” [raising her voice over their joint protests] “two middle-aged _brothers,_ no less ... are unable - _unwilling_ \- to ride in the same car for a ninety-minute trip.” 

_“I’m_ not middle-aged.” Molly glanced in the rear-view mirror at a scowling Sherlock. “Brother dear, however, will soon be eligible for senior concessions.”

Molly didn’t have to look at Mycroft to know he had a firm grip on the bridge of his nose. She discreetly slid her hand off the steering wheel to give his thigh a squeeze, letting her hand rest there a moment before slowly trailing off his leg. A side glance and suggestive lift of her eyebrow was enough to make him look less grim.

But just a bit. 

She sighed silently.

Mycroft’s seat abruptly jerked as Sherlock pushed his knees against it. “Move your seat up,” he complained. “You’re taking too much room to accommodate the excessive size of your stomach.”

Seeing Mycroft’s hand clench out of the corner of her eye, Molly quickly stretched her left hand over the back of the seat, snapped her fingers and jerked her thumb toward the empty space behind her. “Shift over, Sherlock. _Now.”_ She heard him scooting against the leather seat, then a noisy exhalation, and rolled her eyes again.

Mycroft’s hand relaxed, and a few miles passed in peace. Then came a slight intake of breath from the elder combatant, “Brother mine –” Molly turned to frown at Mycroft, who rolled his eyes but shut up.

More silence for, oh, about three minutes.

“Molly …” [wheedlingly]

“Sherlock, take a nap or something. _Please!”_

She started to relax when ten minutes passed without more squabbling.

“Why are you driving, Molly? Where’s brother dear’s _usual_ flunkey?”

“I actually like driving,” she replied, evenly.

“Oh, silly me,” Sherlock said snarkily. “How like Mycroft to find himself a goldfish …” [“Sherlock,” Mycroft, warningly] -- “who enjoys catering to his every need, though how you can stand slaking his _disgusting_ desires …” 

He trailed off as Molly flipped the indicator, slowed and pulled off the road without saying a word. She unbuckled her seatbelt, shoved the driver’s door open, stomped to the boot, and grabbed a duffle bag. She stomped back to the passenger door, motioned for Sherlock to open it, then glared when he didn’t do so quickly enough. He hesitantly pushed the door open, looking at her with his best puppy-dog eyes.

“Molly –”

She unzipped the bag. _“Here –_ [removing a pillow and throwing it at him] _“here –”_ [throwing a comfy blanket at him]. “Now take a nap, Sherlock, or pretend to, but do SHUT UP for the balance of the trip!”

She slammed the passenger door, then stepped into the opening of the driver’s door, and reached back into the bag. She more calmly offered Mycroft a horseshoe-shaped travel pillow. He took it from her, turning the pillow over as he inspected the silky blue covering then rubbed a finger over his initials embroidered in a corner. “I figured you’d end up with a headache and would need to rest your eyes for a while.”

Still caressing his gift, he looked up at Molly with a wry smile.

She put the empty bag back in the boot, settled behind the wheel and buckled up. “You’re obviously aware, Sherlock, that Mycroft and I know many ways to kill someone and make a body disappear.”

A mumble from behind her, “That would be tremendously ambitious of you.”

“Well, we both enjoy a challenge.” Molly looked over her shoulder, then pulled back onto the road at the next break in traffic. “And while we love you …,” she ignored the snort from the front and gagging noise from the back, “we could endeavor to overcome it.”

Then she put her foot down.


	8. All Lives End, All Hearts Are Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: One paragraph mentions the torture and death of children (and death of an adult). It starts "Mycroft already knew the basic facts ..." if you'd like to skip that.  
> Note: I thought more about that paragraph and went back to change one "fact" concerning the children.

Just after lunch on a Thursday in mid-November, Anthea came through the door to Mycroft’s office without any warning, an act sufficiently rare to cause Mycroft at least a modicum of concern. He turned to her immediately, though his face bore its customary neutral expression.

She stopped before his desk, phone gripped tightly between her fingers. “Sir, I think you should go to St. Bartholomew’s.” Mycroft raised his brows inquiringly. “I believe Dr. Hooper … _needs_ you, sir."

He held his hand out, and Anthea waited while he checked the CCTV images. She knew exactly how long the clip was and that Mycroft kept his eyes lowered to the phone for at least five seconds more than was required. He handed the phone to her as he stood, then straightened his jacket and strode around the desk. He paused when he came abreast of her, and Anthea quickly said, “I have this, sir.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied calmly and was gone.

Anthea turned to go back to her office but stopped abruptly, shocked at the sight of Mycroft’s umbrella hanging in its usual place.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Molly was still sitting on the morgue floor, hands grasping her shins, head on her knees. She knew she needed to get up before someone came in, but seemed to have no strength in her legs.

Greg Lestrade had been the first official to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until she completed the third post mortem. He’d sent a utility cart crashing against the wall when Molly opened the first body bag, but had regained control of his emotions and provided a silent source of support. Others had come and gone, but hospital security, keeping watch outside the door, turned most of them away. 

Greg had finally left with copies of Molly’s reports half an hour ago, briefly clutching her to him, before slamming through the morgue doors. She followed to watch through the window until he reached the next set of doors. Turning around, she looked toward the cooling drawers across the room and backed into the corner, sliding down the wall to the floor. She decided it was as good a place as any to stay for a while, so slid her feet up, wrapped her arms around her legs, and dropped her face to her knees.

Molly occasionally heard footsteps in the corridor but no one came in. If anyone glanced through the window, they wouldn’t have seen her where she sat, nor would they be surprised _not_ to see her. Mike had insisted that Molly leave as soon as the reports were completed. A thud on the outside wall startled her out of a light doze, and she glanced around, not sure where she was for a moment. Her eyes were drawn across the room, and she lowered her head again and tightened her grip on her shins.

Ten minutes later, Molly heard more footsteps coming down the corridor, but this time they stopped outside the morgue doors. She braced herself as one of the doors was slowly pushed open. When no one spoke, she turned her face enough to peek over her arm and saw the toe of a shiny black brogue, then turned a little farther until she saw a familiar gray pinstripe. Her breathing hitched when she heard the lock click and she whispered, “Mycroft,” as she reached out to grasp his trouser leg between her fingers. 

Molly stared at him, face pale with shock, as he dropped to his knees beside her. “What are you _doing,”_ she asked frantically, grabbing at his arms and trying to shove him up again. “Your suit!”

Mycroft just looked at Molly, soberly, then turned to sit beside her, long legs stretched out before him. The next thing she knew, he’d slipped his left arm around her back, his right under her knees, and swung her onto his lap. She stared at him, dry-eyed, but on seeing the warmth in his, a sob burst from her and she burrowed her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Mycroft shifted his arms to circle her back, rested his head against hers, and closed his eyes, waiting while Molly continued to cry, quietly. She eventually began talking, choking out a few awful words, then crying, then more terrible words. He understood very little of what she said, but didn’t question her. He simply held her, occasionally running a hand over her head.

Mycroft already knew the basic facts and what Molly had been called upon to do -- perform post mortems on the bodies of two brothers, aged 5 and 3, and their infant sister who’d been kept in a padlocked room and tortured over a long period. Their bodies had been found the previous night after a neighbor called the police to report what looked like bloody handprints smeared on the front window of the family’s home. Upon breaking in, police found a man near the point of death, bleeding from multiple, apparently self-inflicted wounds, and lying beside the body of a woman, who’d been beheaded. The bodies of the children were found in a room in the basement, a loose padlock on the door. Whether the man and dead woman were the parents of any or all of the children was as yet unknown. News stations had been airing interviews all morning with neighbors who said they’d known nothing about any children living in the home. The man, if he lived, would be charged, but the public finger-pointing had already started by politicians, child welfare services, and the like. 

Molly had been scheduled to be off work both Thursday and Friday, and they’d made plans for her to come over that night and stay through the weekend. While on the way to Bart’s, Mycroft learned she’d been called in at 5:45 a.m. after the on-duty pathologist suffered an appendix attack just before the bodies arrived at 5:30. There were other pathologists on staff, but Molly was always first choice for such sensitive cases -- not only for her technical expertise, but because of her manner of dealing with family members and various officials who had jurisdiction over the case.

When Molly had been quiet for a while, Mycroft loosened his hold, cupped her face and pressed his lips to her forehead. She opened her eyes – those beautiful brown eyes that had tears pooling along their lower lashes. One fell to her cheek and he caught it with his thumb.

“Mycroft, how did you know?” She shook her head slightly. “No, why did you come?”

“I thought you could use a lift home.”

Molly smiled tremulously, then pulled out his pocket square, dried her eyes, and rubbed it over her nose and mouth, before putting it in her own pocket. She then slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. He cupped her face more firmly and moved his mouth gently over hers before pulling back. “Are you ready to get up?”

At her nod, Mycroft set her back on the floor, then stood, slipped his hands under her arms, and lifted her to rest against him. She pushed away before a minute had passed. “I’m all right.” Her eyes slid toward the cooling drawers and Mycroft stepped in front of her, blocking the view. He unlocked the morgue door, drew her arm through his, and stepped into the corridor. When he looked at her, brows raised, she pointed toward the locker room.

While Mycroft was waiting for her, Mike Stamford came swiftly down the corridor, looking distressed, his forehead sweaty. “I just heard that Molly is still here.” Mycroft flicked his fingers toward the closed door. “Is she OK?”

“She will be,” he said evenly.

“Should I …?” pointing toward the door.

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

Mike hesitated, turned away, then stopped again. “Tell her she’s off the schedule until Tuesday morning.” He walked on when Mycroft didn’t reply. After he’d gone, Mycroft exhaled through his nose, releasing tension. He wanted to flay someone for Molly having been left alone in the morgue, and Mike would have been an easy target. But he was also generally a good guy and treated Molly with respect and care.

Molly came out of the locker room, flushed from a hot shower and the speed at which she’d dressed. “I’m sorry that took so long.” Mycroft waved a hand dismissively. He followed her down the long corridor and finally out onto the street, where Walter was standing by the car. Molly looked at Mycroft wide-eyed. “Surely Walter hasn’t been here the entire time?”

“No, he just arrived.” He put a hand on her back and moved toward the door Walter was holding open. Molly stopped abruptly and ran her eyes over Mycroft. 

“Mycroft, where is your umbrella?”

For a moment, his mind actually went blank. “At the office.” Molly stared at him, astonished, then followed him into the car, where they found the umbrella – and coat - that Anthea had sent to him.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Mycroft slid his phone back in his jacket pocket when Molly asked where they were going. “I thought you’d be ready for some of Mrs. C’s tea.”

“Don’t you have to go back to work?”

“Not right now.” 

Molly sighed. “Tea does sound good.” She leaned her head back and shut her eyes. A few minutes later, Mycroft saw her start to slide toward the door, so quickly pulled her over to rest against his chest. While she slept, Mycroft called Anthea.

* * * * * * * * * * 

They had tea by the fire in Mycroft’s study. Molly’s head was resting on the wing of the chair, and Mycroft, who’d been keeping an eye on her, quickly leaned forward to take the cup out of her hand as she nodded off again. He refilled his own cup and took it with him to the desk. An hour later, he closed his laptop and moved to stand over Molly. He touched her shoulder and gently ran his hand down her arm. She opened her eyes, looking confused, then sat up abruptly and rubbed her neck.

“Don’t get up yet.” He sat on the arm of her chair and massaged her upper back and shoulders. She sighed as the tight muscles loosened. “Some time in the tub should finish the job.” 

“Hmmm … thank you, Mycroft.” She flinched when something brushed against her leg, then laughed when Toby leapt onto her lap. “How did _you_ get here?” She kissed his nose and tucked him against her neck, then looked up at Mycroft with tear-bright eyes. “How did Toby get here?”

“Mrs. Harrison got him from your flat and put him in the carrier for Walter to pick up.”

Molly was comforted by Toby’s continuous purr as she rubbed her chin over his head. “I’ll have to thank them.” Her gaze returned to his. “But I know it was your idea, so thank _you.”_

“You’re welcome, my dear.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Mike Stamford said you’re off the schedule until Tuesday morning. Would you like to stay and leave for work from here?”

Toby meowed in protest when Molly suddenly clutched him a bit too closely, hiding her face against him for a few moments. “That’s … kind of you, Mycroft, but Toby and I should probably go home on Sunday as usual. I’ll be all right on my own, and there are things I need to do at the flat.” She then wrinkled her nose at him. “Plus, we’re already going to be here an extra day, and I don’t want to wear out our welcome!”

Mycroft stood and gave her a brief smile. “How about that bath?”

* * * * * * * * * * 

He followed Molly upstairs to the bedroom they’d started treating as hers. She hadn’t slept there, but had asked if she could keep using it. “Besides,” she’d said, dryly, “I believe having separate bathrooms, whenever possible, makes for a much happier relationship.”

Mycroft opened the door to let Molly pass through, but she stopped on seeing her weekend bag on the bed. Turning back to him, “Mrs. Harrison and Walter?”

“I assumed you’d have packed the bag last night, so it was easy enough for Mrs. Harrison to locate.”

She put Toby on the bed, then walked back to Mycroft. “Thank you,” she said, sliding her arms around his waist. “You thought of everything.” She tilted her head back and he kissed her lightly before stepping away.

“I’ll see you later.”

* * * * * * * * * * 

Mycroft intended to take his shower, but instead detoured to the kitchen where Mrs. Collingwood was in the process of preparing dinner. He sat on a stool at the island and picked up a spoon, which he began turning between his fingers.

“How is Miss Molly?”

He sighed. “She seems to be doing all right, but –”

“But?”

“I have no experience in dealing with …” He shrugged a shoulder, while continuing to twiddle with the spoon.

Mrs. Collingwood came around the island, patted him on the arm, then continued to the refrigerator. She opened the door, then looked back at him over her shoulder. “You’re better at dealing with people than you think, Mr. Mycroft.” 

He sat quietly for a while, watching her move around the kitchen, then start to work on a salad. “This case will likely lead the news all weekend,” he said, tonelessly. “I have to go to the office in a little while and will obviously be gone again tomorrow.”

She set down the tomato she was slicing, then the knife, and looked at him until he met her gaze. “Don’t worry about anything here. I’ll watch out for Miss Molly.”

She saw some emotion pass over his face before he lowered his eyes and focused on placing the spoon back on the worktop just so. He stood and tugged his waistcoat straight, then rounded the island and stopped beside her. “So, what am I missing tonight?”

“Nothing special – just a shepherd’s pie,” she said, glancing up at him. “Comfort food, you know?”

“Your shepherd’s pie is always special.” He pressed a hand on her shoulder, saying, “Thanks, Mrs. C,” then left the room.

* * * * * * * * * * 

After finishing her bath and dressing, Molly went to Mycroft’s room, shutting the door quickly to keep Toby out. She heard a noise from the dressing room and found Mycroft there, fresh from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, and in the process of selecting a suit. Molly stared at his bare back and watched the muscles in shoulder and arm flex as he reached for a hanger. She leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed tightly against her, trying to breathe normally. “Are you going back to the office now?”

Mycroft turned and looked at her for a few moments, then hung the suit back on the rack, before walking across to her. “If you need me to stay awhile longer –”

“No, no – go on, get ready.” She took his arm, turned him around, then put her palms on his back like she was going to shove him. Instead, she slid her hands around him in a tight hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me today.” She pressed a quick kiss on the smooth skin between his shoulder blades _[oh god]_ and quickly backed away and headed for the door. After opening it, she glanced back, saw Mycroft was watching her, so gave him a wide smile before hurrying down the hall. And away from temptation.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Molly was sitting at the kitchen island, watching Mrs. Collingwood finish dinner preparations, when Mycroft came to the door. She went to meet him, then waited while he said good night to the housekeeper. She followed him to the study, watching from the doorway as he gathered some files and put them in his briefcase. He clicked it shut, then rounded the desk, stopping just inside the door, facing her.

“I’ll see you later, then,” he said, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Or tomorrow if you’re asleep when I return.”

“Wake me up,” she whispered against his lips as he took her in his arms.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Molly watched the gate close behind the car, then shut the front door and leaned against it. She wondered if it was her imagination that Mycroft had been reluctant to leave. He’d lingered over their goodbye kiss, and she’d responded, but had tried not to delay his departure any further. She didn’t want to give him any cause to think her an impediment to doing his job. She wondered, though, if she’d made a mistake in refusing to stay until Tuesday.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Molly twisted fitfully in her sleep as Mycroft climbed into bed and slid across the sheets. He carefully slipped an arm under her, pulled her against his chest, and rolled onto his back. She mumbled his name, then rested her chin on his chest and opened slightly pink-rimmed eyes. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he replied, in the same mild tone, despite noticing the tear tracks. A nightmare, he assumed, correctly.

She smiled slowly, then cupped her hands over his shoulders and slid herself up his body until her face was above his. “I’m awake.”

“Hmmm, so you are.” Mycroft pursed his lips, thoughtfully. He slid his hands through her loose hair, pulled her mouth to his, and made love to her as slowly and gently as he knew how. 

When they eventually fell asleep, still wrapped around each other, Molly’s face was again tear-streaked, but her tears weren’t from sorrow.


	9. A Small Thank You Wouldn't Go Amiss ... For Wading In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter in which Mycroft does some legwork, both figuratively and literally, in support of Molly in the aftermath of the events of Chapter 8.
> 
> ** Includes sex -- mature, but not explicit (I hope)!

Early that Friday morning, Molly roused when the mattress dipped behind her as Mycroft leaned over to kiss her temple. _“Shhhhh,_ go back to sleep.” A few minutes later she heard the shower start. Smiling, she rolled over and into his still-warm spot, breathed in faint traces of sandalwood from his pillow, then dozed off again.

* * * * * * * * 

Molly rubbed her nose, then her hand flopped on the pillow. When something again brushed her face, she forced her eyes open and reared back, startled, at being nose-to-nose with Toby. She dropped her face on the pillow, mumbling, “Oh, Toby – what do you want?” She yelped when a cold nose touched her ear, then sighed and rolled over, pulling him into her arms.

Molly’s eyes widened when she realized Toby was in Mycroft’s bed. Mycroft had been surprisingly easy-going about the cat’s weekend visits, but his bedroom was off limits. “Did Mycroft put you in here? Huh? Another sign of his taking care of me?” She abruptly sat up, put Toby down and reached for her phone on the bedside table. _8:30 … damn._ She scrambled off the bed and into her dressing gown, retrieved Toby and hurried down the hall to “her” bedroom. She quickly freshened up, dressed, and left the room, with Toby running ahead of her.

She rounded the doorway into the kitchen at a trot, startling Mrs. Collingwood. “Good morning, Mrs. C,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “Has Mycroft already left?”

“You missed him by fifteen minutes,” Mrs. Collingwood replied, with a sympathetic smile. “And good morning - to you both!” She stooped to scratch Toby’s ear as he rubbed against her leg.

Molly’s face fell. “I meant to be up before he left,” she sighed, then sat on a stool. “Did he eat breakfast?”

“A light one, which is normal for him during the week. He’s only recently started enjoying a bigger breakfast on the weekends.” She smiled at the pink tinge on Molly’s cheeks, then brought her a cup of tea. “What can I fix for you this morning? Would you like a cooked breakfast? Fruit? Cereal?” Then, laughing, “All of the above?”

“Thank you,” Molly said, sipping the tea. “I usually just get toast and jam at Bart’s.” A shadow crossed her face. Seeing it, Mrs. Collingwood refilled her own cup and took a seat across from Molly.

“How about some fresh fruit? Do you like yoghurt?” When Molly nodded, Mrs. Collingwood continued, “Let me put something together for you. Then, I wondered if you might like to go for a walk with me after you’ve finished eating. Regent’s Park isn’t far away.” She was relieved to see the younger woman sit straighter and look at her with enthusiasm.

“Oh, Mrs. C … I’d really like that!” She took a quick sip of tea. “Do you go walking there often?” Mrs. Collingwood got up to prepare breakfast for her, and they chatted about the park and other places worth visiting around the neighborhood. She soon set a plate of fruit and toast, a cup of vanilla yoghurt, and a glass of pomegranate juice in front of Molly.

“Mmmm, thank you … this is perfect,” Molly said, biting into a peach slice. “Delicious!” She put the rest of the slice in her mouth, then hesitated, tracing a pattern on the table with her fingers. “You must know I’m not used to having someone do things for me – like fix my breakfast. I do appreciate it,” she finished awkwardly.

Mrs. Collingwood sat across from her again. “Looking after Mr. Mycroft – as much as he’ll let me – and caring for his home is my job, and I enjoy doing it.” Her brow creased as she looked out the window, then appeared to nod to herself, before turning back to Molly. “Miss Molly, I’ve worked for him for fifteen years and have never violated his trust in my discretion … until now, possibly.” She turned her cup around on its saucer, then continued. “If he hasn’t told you, you are the first person he has brought to the house during my time with him. Oh, his parents and Sherlock visit occasionally – or barge in unexpectedly, in Sherlock’s case ...” [smiling] " – and he’s had his PA come here to work in the study at times over the years, but no one he’s invited for, um, personal reasons. That makes you special.”

Molly blushed. “Well, we _are_ friends.”

“My point is that it would please me to assist you in any way, Miss Molly,” Mrs. Collingwood said warmly, patting Molly’s hand. “I care for Mr. Mycroft and have long hoped he would find someone to bring some lightness into his life.”

“I hope I can, Mrs. C.” Molly bit her lip. “Everyone else seems to think he is almost inhuman - an Ice Man. I did, too, at first, since he always seemed so alone, so untouchable, so … formidable! But it wasn’t long before I thought differently, and these last months with me he’s been so … so –” She stopped, flustered.

“He’s more settled than I’ve ever seen him.”

Molly stared at her, shocked. “Mrs. C …”

“I’m sorry, my dear.” Mrs. Collingwood patted Molly’s hand again. “Don’t mind me. I tend to get sentimental about Mr. Mycroft, but have to hide it from him. You know his opinion when it comes to sentiment!” She stood, then smiled down at Molly. “Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you right now, I’ll change my clothes before we go on that walk.”

“Thanks, Mrs. C.” Once alone, Molly ate the last bite of toast, refilled her cup, and tried to shrug off the housekeeper’s deduction. 

* * * * * * * * 

After changing, Mrs. Collingwood sent a quick text.

_\- Off for a walk in the park. May also shop along high street if she’s interested. SC_

* * * * * * * * 

They had a wonderful time on the walk. It was chilly and overcast, but dry, and a brisk walk across parts of Regent’s Park, then a long circular route, brought them to the SJW High Street, where they took their time looking at window displays and familiarizing Molly with what shops were located there. Pausing in front of a window filled with leather goods, Molly asked Mrs. Collingwood about Christmas at Mycroft’s. “Basically, non-existent,” she answered. “He says he can’t stand it, but usually ends up at his parents’ house at some point. I decorate my little house and put a few touches in my parts of the main house, but he doesn’t want a tree.” She hesitated, then continued, “I think this year may be different. I may be wrong, but I believe the family may end up at Mycroft’s, so he’ll have to decorate or his mother will do it for him!” They laughed.

They had tea and a bite to eat before returning home. Molly left Mrs. Collingwood to her housekeeping duties, then stopped outside the kitchen, not sure how to spend the afternoon. She hung up her coat and went upstairs to freshen up, then stretched out on the bed where she was soon joined by Toby. She didn’t intend to take a nap, but the combination of fresh air, exercise and a full stomach took its toll. When she woke up, it was 3:15, and she decided to go to the music room.

* * * * * * * * 

Mrs. Collingwood was surprised to hear the chime indicating the front gate opening around 4:30 and headed to the front door, arriving just in time to open it for Mycroft. “Everything all right, Mr. Mycroft?”

“Yes,” he said, handing her his umbrella while stooping to pick up Toby. “I have an early dinner cum meeting at 7:00 and need to freshen up.” He paused, turning his head toward the music room, and slowly smiled as he listened to what Molly was playing. He knew she hadn’t heard him arrive or would have stopped since she continued to be shy about Mycroft hearing her. After a few moments, he turned back to Mrs. Collingwood, eyebrows raised.

“She’s been playing for more than an hour,” Mrs. Collingwood said. “She has quite a nice touch, doesn’t she?” He hummed in response, then handed Toby to her and moved quietly toward the music room.

Mycroft crossed the room silently, stopping to watch Molly’s hands move gracefully over the keys, then bent to kiss the side of her neck. She jumped and flattened her hands against the keyboard in a jarring crash of chords, causing both of them to wince.

“Mycroft!” She twisted to look up at him, delighted, then swung her legs around on the bench to face him. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.” 

“Unfortunately, my dear, I’m not here for long. I have a meeting at 7:00 and need to shower and change.” He bent to kiss her, then straightened. “Barring any fresh crisis, I should be back by 11.”

“What about dinner?”

“It’s actually a dinner meeting,” he said, putting his hand under her elbow. He frowned when she resisted his help to stand.

“Mycroft, I better stay here while you get ready,” she said, smiling. “You don’t want to be late, and I can’t promise not to delay you if I come upstairs.” She lifted an eyebrow. “You’re too much of a temptation.”

His lips twitched as he checked his pocket watch. “Yes, you better stay downstairs ...,” he looked at her, both eyebrows raised, “unless fast would do.” 

_“Really?”_ Molly blushed, but took off for the stairs, saying, “Last one there’s a rotten egg.” Mycroft rolled his eyes, but followed after her.

* * * * * * * * 

Molly kicked her shoes off, then crawled onto the bed, and settled in the middle of it, watching Mycroft cross the room after closing the door. She quickly pulled her shirt over her head, shoved her jeans and pants off, and twisted to flick open her bra. When Mycroft sat on the side of the bed, she scooted over to press herself against his back and whisper breathily in his ear, “You don’t even have to take any clothes off.” She bit his ear lobe gently. “In fact, please don’t.” She shifted over, tugging him after her, barely giving him time to remove his shoes. 

She laughed huskily, and Mycroft suddenly got into the spirit of things. Their hands met at his waistband, then Molly let go and fell back, arms spread wide over her head, waiting. He lowered his zipper and she quickly sat back up before carefully releasing and stroking him. He started to reach toward the bedside table, but she grabbed both hands and pulled him down. “I’m clean, you’re clean, I’m on the pill – ” He tugged free, then slid his hands under her knees, pressing them high and wide, and caught his breath when she reached between them and rubbed him against her. At Molly’s urging, he drove forcefully into her, eyes closed, groaning at his increased sensitivity, at the feel of their slick friction, before opening his eyes to the sight of her glowing face and then lower to her pert nipples, looking like tiny rosebuds in the smooth paleness of her breasts. He dropped onto his forearms, changing the angle of his thrusts as Molly encircled him with arms and legs, then slid both hands up her sides to cup her breasts, their hardened peaks rubbing against the center of his palms. She tilted her hips further, moaning loudly at the added stimulation from his slightly rough-textured suit rubbing against the tender skin of her inner thighs, stomach and breasts. She clutched at his shoulders and pulled his face to her breasts, and he took turns nibbling on and lapping one nipple, then the other. He lifted his head, panting, as Molly called out, her body tightening and pulsing around him. She moaned again when Mycroft changed his pace to short, hard thrusts, then fell over the edge with her. He slid off to the side, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Considering … your extensive … collection of suits,” Molly said, still breathing heavily, “I have endless choices … to star in my fantasies … and feed this … newly developed appreciation … for suit porn.” She smirked when Mycroft turned toward her with an incredulous look on his face. She propped herself on her elbow, and ran her eyes down and back up his body, before reaching to pat his face with her free hand. “Yep … on those nights I spend at mine ... it will be you in a suit … and me naked … in my dreams.”

She grinned at him, then fell back onto the pillow. “Shouldn’t you be getting a shower?” She felt the mattress dip, then lifted her head to watch as he rounded the foot of the bed and headed for the bathroom. “Thanks for fulfilling the fantasy, Mycroft!”

When the door shut, Molly sat up and looked around for her clothes, finally finding her shirt under the covers at the foot of the bed. She rolled around dressing, then stretched out on Mycroft’s side of the bed with a contented sigh, feeling truly debauched and unashamed of it. 

After a while, she heard him go into his dressing room through the connecting door. Less than ten minutes later, he came out carrying his jacket and strolled toward the bed, breaking stride to change course when he saw she was on his side. She rolled over as he sat on the edge of the bed, slipping a cufflink through the left cuff. She held her hand out for the other one, then slipped it through the right cuff. Standing, he shrugged into his jacket, bent to give her a quick kiss, and then paused before patting her on the bum. “Thanks for the quickie, my dear Molly.” 

The _git._ She hid a grin, then said as he opened the door, “I sure hope you don’t find yourself thinking about this during a boring meeting with the cabinet!” 

Mycroft froze for a moment, an arrested look on his face, then narrowed his eyes at her and shut the door behind him.

* * * * * * * * 

Molly got a shower and changed before going downstairs, hesitating briefly before turning toward the kitchen. She was already blushing when she came through the door, knowing Mrs. Collingwood would know what they’d been doing and that she’d know Molly knew she knew and - _oh god, Molly ... grow up!_

* * * * * * * * 

After dinner, Mrs. Collingwood invited Molly to join her in the sitting room off the back of the kitchen. It was a charming room, not overly large, but with deeply cushioned chairs and sofa, a large flat-screen television, and over-filled bookshelves. “Is your bedroom nearby, as well?” Molly asked as she inspected the books.

"Oh, no. Haven’t you noticed my flat - I think it’s called a granny annex - in the back garden? This sitting room is simply a kind of day-time retreat. My little home out back is wonderful - two bedrooms, a bathroom, sitting room and eat-in kitchen. Mr. Mycroft had it fitted out and redecorated exactly as I wished.”

“It certainly sounds ideal.”

“He also completely updated the staff quarters over the garage – bedrooms, a kitchen, etc. – for when Walter or anyone else has to be here late at night. Mr. Mycroft is thorough in such details.”

“Mycroft is thorough in everything,” Molly said, without thinking. She glanced up and blushed at Mrs. Collingwood’s obvious amusement.

“Yes, well … would you like to watch some telly with me, Miss Molly?”

“Thank you - I would. What’s on?” She asked, settling on the sofa.

* * * * * * * * 

At 10 p.m., Molly changed into her nightclothes and went to read in the sitting room, waiting for Mycroft to return. An hour or so later, he found her stretched out on her side on the sofa, sound asleep, book on the floor beside her, and Toby dozing in the nook created by her bent knees. 

Mycroft took off his jacket and left it folded on the coffee table, then went upstairs, returning in his dressing gown and pajamas after a quick shower. He moved her feet enough to sit at the end of the sofa and ran his hand up and down her calf. Molly slowly roused, first blinking at his jacket, then twisting to look at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he returned, running his fingers up her leg to catch her hand. “You didn’t need to wait up for me.” 

After moving Toby to the floor, Molly pushed herself up, scooted down the sofa to slip under the arm Mycroft lifted, and then snuggled against his side. When she tilted her head back, he leaned down to kiss her, then tucked her head under his chin. “Mmmm, it’s nice to be home.” As soon as the words left Mycroft’s mouth, he went rigid and a subsequent silence was tense. When Molly didn’t react in any way, he slowly relaxed again. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

In response, Molly dropped her feet to the floor, and they slowly made their way upstairs, turning lights off as they went. Molly stopped at her bedroom for a few minutes, then left the door open for Toby (who had taken to sleeping on that bed). When Molly finally crawled into bed beside Mycroft, they both let out long breaths at the same time.

“Did you have a bad day? Or a bad evening?”

Mycroft snorted. “Spending an evening in the company of politicians is exceedingly tedious.”

“I can imagine,” she said wryly, “if not understand the full extent of their tedious-ness.” She suddenly yawned, then belatedly covered her mouth. “Sorry!”

Before he could reply, he was caught by a yawn himself, but did hide it behind a hand. “It’s catching.” He lifted his head off the pillow to give her a brief kiss. “Are you ready to go to sleep?”

“Ye-” Molly was interrupted by another squeaky yawn, and Mycroft laughed, kissed her forehead, then reached to turn off the lamp. “Good night, my dear.”

“Good night, Myc-” [yawning] “roft.” [giggle]

* * * * * * * * 

They both slept late Saturday morning, then lay in bed cuddling – or what most people would call cuddling. Molly was sure Mycroft would reject that description strenuously. They’d been talking occasionally, but mostly dozing, when Molly asked, hesitantly, “Mycroft, is there anything you do simply for fun?”

He grimaced. “Fun?” He tilted his head and rolled his eyes. “I actually enjoy my work, despite having to deal with so many idiots.” Molly snorted. “And there is music and reading and –“

“Stop!” Molly rolled over and folded her arms on his chest, then propped her chin on them. “I know about your more intellectual pursuits, but what about more, um, active pursuits?”

“Do our ‘benefits’ count?”

“No! Well, yes - and, thank you, if that’s an acknowledgment that you actually enjoy them - but not in answer to this question.”

His face settled into its neutral expression. “You know most of my time is given to work. That can come as no surprise to you.”

Molly frowned. “Mycroft, I am not complaining – _oh, god._ All I was trying to do was lead up to asking you if you would like to go for a walk with me.”

“A walk?” He frowned.

“Mrs. C and I went to the park yesterday, and it was wonderful. I just thought some fresh air might be good for you – that you might find it relaxing.” Mycroft looked like he didn’t agree. “Never mind – it’s all right.” Molly rolled off his chest and back onto her pillow. “I am _not_ trying to change you or to manage your life.”

They were quiet for a while, then, “I suppose I could –”

“No, Mycroft!” Molly sat up and twisted toward him. “I do not want you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you haven’t deduced this already, I am perfectly – _wonderfully!_ \- happy with our, um, arrangement. Good god, you’ve already far exceeded my wildest imaginings!” She blushed. “I don’t mean the sex – well, that too is beyond, um - never mind.” [flapping her hand dismissively] “I mean how much time you spend with me … how welcome you’ve made me feel here … how, um, ‘open’ you are with me.” She leaned over and kissed him slowly. When she raised her head, he slid his arms around her and brought their mouths back together, deepening the kiss.

He pulled back enough for their lips to separate, then whispered, “I still think this should count as fun.”

“Mmmm …” [kissing him again] “… are we going to take this fun to a higher level?” [another kiss]

Mycroft reached for his phone without breaking their kiss, then turned to look at it. His eyes widened. “We could, but it’s already 9:30, and Mrs. C will have had breakfast ready for some time.” He looked at her. “We don’t have to go down now, but …”

“Oh, god!” Molly jerked away and scooted off the bed. “She really is going to think I’m some sort of sex fiend.” She shrugged into her dressing gown. “When I told you at the tea shop that I was sort of ‘sub-normal’ in that area, I meant it. You, however, have obviously revved up my libido! I only have to think about you and I’m ready to drop trou – _oh god, shut up, Molly!”_ She looked at him, blushing, “And, for god’s sake, Mycroft, stop being such a _typical_ man and looking so pleased with yourself!”

Mycroft grimaced at the “typical” jab, but smiled to himself after Molly hurried out of the room, then headed for the bathroom.

* * * * * * * * 

Mycroft had to leave for the study midway through breakfast after getting a call from the PM. (Molly was shocked that he actually put his hand over the phone and whispered, “I have to take this – PM.”) He further shocked her by appearing at the door to the sitting room after lunch dressed in a pale blue jumper, jeans, and black trainers. He looked down at himself when Molly stared at him, mouth agape. “Is this not appropriate for a walk in the park?”

Molly shut her mouth, then swallowed audibly. “Where did you get the jeans?”

He frowned, brow creased. “Out of my cupboard. I do own clothes other than suits, you know.”

“But do you ever wear them,” Molly muttered under her breath, then added in her normal voice, “You look great! Are we really going for a walk?”

He looked confused. “Didn’t you want to?”

“Yes!” She jumped up from the sofa, gave him a quick kiss, then hurried toward the stairs. “Just give me a few minutes.” When Molly came back downstairs, Mycroft was holding her short coat and was wearing a _[dear lord]_ bomber-style jacket. In black leather. She stopped on the stairs. “Do you happen to have a motorcycle parked in the garage?”

He huffed indignantly. “Of course not! Why would you think that?”

“Sorry – just trying to prepare myself for further shocks.” He again looked adorably confused _[and wouldn’t he hate that description]_. How Mycroft could be so oblivious to his physical impact on Molly was beyond her understanding. She took his arm and turned them toward the kitchen. 

“Where are we going?”

“We need to say goodbye to Mrs. C.” She felt him glance sideways at her, but pulled him along. Mrs. Collingwood looked up when they came around the corner, ran her eyes over Mycroft, then met Molly’s gaze. “We’re going for a walk in the park, Mrs. C.”

“How nice,” she replied, lightly, though Molly saw the gleam in her eyes. “You have perfect weather for it.” She went to the sink to wash her hands. “I’ll have tea ready when you get back – and there’s a nice chocolate cake today, with white chocolate icing.”

“Oh, yum. See you later.” Molly again towed Mycroft behind her as she headed toward the front door. He hadn’t said anything to Mrs. Collingwood, but did wave a hand at her as they left the kitchen.

* * * * * * * * 

Molly hardly batted an eye when Mycroft pulled on a navy tweed flat cap and changed their direction to leave out a back door. They left the grounds via a locked gate in the rear garden wall. She figured the cap, as well as the back door departure, provided some sort of “cover” for him, whether against any neighbors who might be shocked at seeing The Ice Man ambling down the pavement or against some unknown person with less benign intent.

Molly had a wonderful time. She’d been concerned that the significant difference in their heights would cause difficulty in finding a comfortable walking pace, but she sped up just a bit, he slowed down just a bit, and somewhere in the middle, it worked. They first followed the same route Molly and Mrs. Collingwood had taken, but split off to take the outer circle around the park for a while, then crossed the canal and walked for quite a ways on the towpath. Before they got too far around to the other side of the park, Molly stopped and took Mycroft’s hand. “So, what do you think? Do you want to go farther, or head back?”

“Whatever you want is fine with me,” he said, adding with a wry smile. “It’s actually not as ghastly as I expected.”

Molly laughed, then released his hand. “Come on, then - let’s go climb a hill.” He snorted, but fell in step with her as they headed toward Primrose Hill. When they reached the top, the sun was low in the sky and gave a golden hue to the panoramic view of the capital. They stopped to enjoy the view for a while, although Molly figured Mycroft was grimacing internally at all the other people who were doing the same. 

When they came back down the hill and turned onto Prince Albert Road, Molly slid her arm through his and said she was ready to head for home. “And some of that chocolate cake!”

* * * * * * * * 

“There is no way I will want any dinner tonight,” Molly said, groaning. “I’m stuffed.” When Mrs. Collingwood walked into the dining room at that point, she continued, “Thank you, Mrs. C. That was delicious, but I ate far too much.”

“Well, you both must have worked up a good appetite on your walk,” she replied, “You were gone longer than we were yesterday even though we did some window-shopping, so you must have covered a fair distance.”

Mycroft set his cup in the saucer. “Thank you, Mrs. C. As Molly said, everything – but particularly the cake - was delicious.” He turned to Molly. “Are you finished, my dear?”

“Finished - and done in,” she groaned. “I think I need a nap.”

“You should take one.” He pushed his chair back, then pulled out hers. “I need to work for a while.”

* * * * * * * * 

Two hours later, Mycroft went upstairs and, on finding his bedroom empty, turned back to Molly’s room. There was no answer to his light tapping on the door, so he went in, exchanged stares with Toby, who was curled on the bed next to a Molly-sized impression in the covers, then went to tap on the bathroom door. “Molly?” At her invitation, he entered and found her submerged to her shoulders in the tub.

“Are you finished with work for now?” She shivered and slid toward the taps to turn on the hot water. She looked up as Mycroft came to stand by the tub and tried not to blush. When she turned off the water and stretched out again, he placed a folded towel on the wider part of the tub edge and perched beside her.

“Do you want me to wash your back?”

Molly looked at him and shivered for another reason when she met his eyes. “All right.” Her heart rate increased as he pushed his sleeves to his elbows, then looked at her with raised brows. She slid forward a little, raised her knees and wrapped her arms around them, waiting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mycroft reach for the flannel, wring it out, then pour a glob of bath gel on it. He must have known about gel being cold straight out of the bottle because he dipped the flannel under the warm water again before placing it on her back. Molly dropped her head onto her crossed arms and groaned when he massaged in circular motions down her spine, back up, then firm circles on her shoulder blades, and across from shoulder to shoulder, pausing at the nape of her neck, then circled down her spine again. Molly grunted at the release of tension. “Oooh, that feels so good.”

He warmed the flannel again and continued massaging her back. He pressed his free hand against her back, and Molly bent further, straightening her legs. He dipped the flannel further underwater and rubbed it along her waist and base of her spine, and she bit her lip, holding in another moan. When he leaned over and kissed her between the shoulder blades, she moaned out loud. “Mycroft …”

He sat up, wrung out the flannel and hung it over the tap. “Are you ready to get out?”

Molly looked up at him over her shoulder, flushing a bit, but trying to look seductive. “Would you like to get in?” Mycroft’s eyes widened, and a tinge of pink colored his cheeks as he ran his eyes over her. She scooted forward, knees bent. “There’s plenty of room.” His eyes met hers again, and he studied her expression for a few moments before reaching for the hem of his jumper and pulling it over his head. He had a white T-shirt on under it and Molly sucked in a breath at seeing the material catch on his nipples as he stretched his arms overhead. Either he was cold or … [running her eyes down his body] … _oh my god._

She slid forward and flipped the lever to let some water run out while he continued to undress, then flipped it back up and ran more hot water into the tub. She slid as far toward the taps as she could as he stepped carefully into the tub and settled behind her, then she slowly scooted back. She took hold of his calves and helped him straighten his legs out on either side of hers, then lay back against his chest. His arms were resting along the tub edge on either side of her shoulders, and she could feel his heart beating strongly against her upper back and his erection pressing against the small of her back.

She turned her head to look up at him, blushing again. “So … have you ever done this before?” He looked down at her with smiling eyes and shook his head. She wrinkled her nose. “Neither have I. I’m not actually sure what to do now.” She was surprised into a squeal when he took hold of her waist and pulled her farther up so her head could rest in the crook of his neck, and then his knees, slightly bent, shifted under hers to hold her in place. He stretched his foot out and turned on both taps, checking the temperature of the water every few seconds, adjusting each tap to reach the right warmth. Molly was impressed with his dexterity and figured she’d have got a cramp on trying the same maneuver. He turned both taps off when the water level had risen a few inches until it was partially covering her breasts.

They lay there quietly for some time and then Mycroft cupped her right breast and began a circling motion from the underside that was under water then around the upper half that was out of the water, dipping under the water and out, and so continuing, and Molly found it both arousing and oddly comforting at the same time. After a minute or so, he started the same motion with his left hand. At that, Molly tightened and pressed her head harder into the crook of Mycroft’s neck. Another minute of it and she moaned, twisting her head toward him and kissing his throat. She let her head fall back and his mouth dropped onto hers, tongue pressing deep when she opened to him. She twisted farther around to stretch an arm over his shoulder, and his right hand released her breast and slid down her stomach and between her thighs. Molly moaned into his mouth as his hand cupped her, rubbing and gently pinching sensitive flesh between his fingers. Their tongues continued their sensual dance and his fingers intensified their movements until Molly pulled back, gasping, “Too much – it’s too much.” Mycroft’s fingers stilled, but he kept his hand pressed against her, their eyes locked on each other’s. 

Molly let go of his shoulder and dragged her hand down his chest and across his stomach, twisting her torso farther toward him and shifting her hip until she could encircle him with her fingers. She lifted her chin a fraction and his hand left her breast and wrapped around her neck, holding her head still while he dipped his and drew her lower lip into his mouth, biting it gently, then smoothing it with his tongue. Molly flicked the tip of her tongue against his, then slid against it in a long stroke, at the same time that she began stroking him with her hand. He drew back, inhaling sharply, and tilted his head against the tiled wall. Molly dropped hers onto his shoulder and, tightening her grip, continued stroking him more firmly, pausing on the upstroke to rub her thumb from side to side. Mycroft’s fingers restarted their rubbing motions, then Molly gasped as his middle finger slid deeper with a thrusting motion, followed by a second finger. Their breathing got louder and heavier, until Molly’s fingers abruptly clenched tighter around him and her body tensed. Mycroft ground out her name through gritted teeth, but instead of heeding his warning, she stroked faster until she felt the sudden warmth of his release against her stomach. As their breathing slowed, Molly hummed a question and Mycroft hummed back. _Good?_ Good.

Molly flicked the lever up with her toe to let the water start draining. Her initial embarrassment at meeting his eyes changed to amusement as their foreheads bumped, then his elbow hit the side of the tub, then her knee slid off his and hit the floor of the tub – each accident causing an “ow” here and an “ow” there. By the time they got to their feet, they were holding onto each other, chuckling. Mycroft wrapped a towel around Molly as she stepped out onto the bathmat, and she did the same for him. “Well, overall that was probably sexier in theory than in practice,” she said, grinning.

“So, a shower?”

“Shower ... and no more hanky panky.” 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I didn’t start that, my dear.” She silently disagreed, thinking the whole washing her back thing was nothing if not foreplay, but let it go.

They rinsed off quickly, then, wrapping a towel around his waist, Mycroft tilted his head, studying Molly as she pulled on fresh pajamas. “I hate to admit it, but I’ve rather missed the kittens.” He grinned with she hitched the bottoms higher, glowering at him. “No, really. I haven’t seen them since the night you dropped the tea tray. They’ve been a fond memory for me ever since.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, while shrugging into her dressing gown. “Well, I’m glad they don’t turn you off, because they’re actually my favorites.” She slid her feet into slippers, then went to the vanity and let her hair down. “I should probably get dressed again, but I really don’t want any dinner.” [brushing her hair] “I’d rather read for a while and go to bed early.”

“Would you please buzz Mrs. C and tell her neither of us wants any dinner.” Mycroft picked up his shoes and clothes and followed her out of the bathroom. “I need to work awhile longer tonight, but you’re welcome to join me in the study.”

After he headed to his bedroom, Molly called Mrs. Collingwood and told her they’d snack on something from the fridge if either felt like eating something later. She then stretched out on the bed, closed her eyes, and once again marveled at the reality of Mycroft as a lover. _Dear lord, Mycroft Holmes truly was her lover._

* * * * * * * * 

Later on in the study, Mycroft was working on his laptop at the desk and Molly was curled up in a chair reading in front of the fire, Toby beside her. The only sounds other than the low crackling of the fire were the clicking of computer keys, interrupted from time to time by the scratching of his pen across paper, the turning of her book’s pages, the cat’s frequent purring. 

Molly occasionally glanced up to watch him at work, dropping her eyes before he took notice. Mycroft occasionally paused to study her, curious at her seeming contentment and surprised again at how relatively easily she’d become part of his home life. 

Molly left him to his work at 10 p.m., heading to bed after a quick kiss goodnight. By the time he followed her upstairs an hour later, she was asleep.

* * * * * * * *

They were finished with breakfast and had already settled into their respective ends of the sitting room sofa by 8:30 the next morning, Sunday papers spread around them. Molly was reading about a new West End musical starting its previews that week, when Mycroft cleared his throat. She lowered the paper and looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Molly, have you thought any more about staying over until Tuesday?” His expression and tone of voice were casual, but she found the fact that he’d asked her again significant. She wasn’t sure how, other than he was concerned enough about her being on her own to pursue it.

“I like being here, Mycroft, but you’re used to having your home to yourself other than Friday to Sunday evenings,” she said hesitantly. “I really don’t want you to start feeling … I don’t know … smothered? Invaded?”

He just looked at her with a neutral expression, his lips pressed in a straight line, then sighed. “I just thought a change in your routine for a couple more days might be welcome.”

“It would.” Molly rubbed her foot over his thigh. “I accept then – thank you.” They both went back to reading their papers for several minutes, before she added, “I do need to go to the flat to pick up a few things before Tuesday.”

“Would you like to go before lunch?”

“No, I’d rather wait until tomorrow. I’ll take Toby with me and leave him for Mrs. Harrison to check on.” She sat up. “It’s no big deal. I just need to get some clothes for work.”

“While you’re getting them, why don’t you bring a few extra things to keep here,” he glanced at her, then turned back to his paper. “You already keep a toothbrush and other essentials here. Having extra clothing choices might come in handy some weekend.” He looked back at her, brows arched. “Now that you’ve talked me into taking a walk, what else might you bully me into doing?”

She snorted, but considered his suggestion a good one – as well as being unexpected.

* * * * * * * * 

A cold rain set in mid-morning. Since there was no chance of another walk, Molly suggested some time in the gym. Mycroft agreed, even though she didn’t repeat the previous week’s offer to make it worth his while. Molly was surprised at how seemingly effortlessly he ran on the treadmill. She enjoyed the view while she strained on the rower.

They both did complete justice to Mrs. Collingwood’s roast, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and the rest of the trimmings, then returned to the sitting room after lunch to sprawl on opposite sofas. Molly dozed off after a while, and Mycroft took the opportunity to go search the music room for a surprise he had planned.

Molly woke to the sound of … _Chopsticks?!?_ … coming from the music room. By process of elimination, it had to be Mycroft on the piano. She almost fell over the coffee table in her haste to see _that._

She literally came to a skidding halt beside him, when her socks slid on the polished wood floor, and she had to grab the piano to keep from falling. Mycroft broke off, ready to catch her, then laughed when she dropped onto the piano bench beside him. _Exactly where I wanted you, Miss Molly._

She glanced up at him, wide-eyed. “What are you doing, Mycroft?”

“I would think that was obvious, Molly,” he replied, mildly. 

“But _you_ … playing _Chopsticks!!”_

“As hard as it may be to believe, I actually was a child at some point, my dear,” he drawled.

Molly rolled her eyes. “But why play that?”

“To get you in here hastily – and I’d say I succeeded admirably,” he answered, looking smug.

Molly huffed, then noticed the sheet music in front of them. “What’s this?”

“Ah.” He reached to shift the pages farther away from her. “That is part of a plan which I will tell you about later. Right now, I’d like to see if you know this one.” And, without hesitation, he started playing the bass part of the old Hoagy Carmichael duet, “Heart and Soul.” 

That Mycroft would deign to play something so … so _schmaltzy_ tickled her so much that she forgot to be shy about playing in front of him and automatically lifted her hands and came in at the correct moment. They played through several variations of the tune, escalating in difficulty, and bumped shoulders while trying to get their hands in the right places and groaned aloud at the occasional missed note, then finished with a flourish and turned to each other, laughing delightedly. Mycroft momentarily forgot that starting with that duet had simply been part of a bigger plan and gave into the fun of it. Neither of them had noticed when Mrs. Collingwood came to peek around the door and her resulting shocked delight at seeing the two of them. She turned away before they finished, not wanting to do anything to break the mood.

When their laughter subsided, Molly pointed toward the sheet music. “All right, what’s that?”

Mycroft turned the page. "It's a duet - Schubert’s ‘Marche Militaire’ - and I’d like you to learn it.”

“Why?”

“Again, I’ll tell you later.” He looked down at her, brows raised. “How’s your sight-reading?”

“It’s actually quite good.”

“Then how about we have a go at it now,” he said, a challenging tone in his voice.

Molly stared at him for several moments, then raised her chin. “You’re on.”

And for the next hour, they sat side by side … playing through the piece together for the first time and being surprised at the relatively good results … and then discussing Mycroft’s plan once he explained it to her. Molly was game for the challenge, and their second run-through was even better than the first.

They finally left the music room when Mycroft got an urgent call, which, based on his exasperated reaction to it, had turned out to be not so urgent after all. Otherwise, it was a quiet evening – dinner, reading awhile by the fire, then an early night. Before they fell asleep, Molly asked Mycroft to wake her when he got up Monday morning.

* * * * * * * * 

Mycroft woke Molly as requested the following morning, but did so half an hour earlier than necessary and by a method she whole-heartedly endorsed. When he eventually headed for the shower, Molly rolled onto her stomach, slid her arms under the pillow and sighed happily. The next thing she knew, a warm hand stroked her bare bum, making her jump. “Are you coming down to breakfast or not?”

“Oh!” Molly rolled over, then flushed as Mycroft ran his eyes down her body. She had an urge to pull the covers over herself, but didn’t want to appear silly since they’d _both_ been naked just a little while before. Mycroft, however, was fully dressed and looked every inch the elegant Ice Man except for the warm expression in his eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips. She quickly sat up and pulled on her T-shirt and pajama bottoms. As soon as she stood, he pulled her against him and gave her a lingering kiss that was just getting interesting when Molly suddenly flinched.

“Did you just pinch me?”

Mycroft slowly slid his hand from under her kitten pajamas. “Certainly not.” She huffed, then grinned when he held her dressing gown for her to slip on.

After breakfast, Molly stood at the front door, watching Mycroft leave, then went to the kitchen and told Mrs. Collingwood she was going to her flat and taking Toby with her.

“Mr. Mycroft told me your plans and suggested I go with you.” Molly raised her eyebrows. “To drive you, I mean. He keeps a little runabout – as he calls it – for my use.”

“I was going to take a taxi there, then the tube back, but going by car does sound much nicer. If you’re sure you have the time, then, yes … please.”

They left about 10 a.m. and Mrs. Collingwood found a parking space just a short distance from Molly’s flat. She looked around curiously when Molly let them in. “You have a nice home here, Miss Molly.”

“It’s comfortable and convenient to Bart’s, plus the landlady is helpful when needed and unobtrusive when not – that’s about the best one can expect,” Molly said, grinning. She took Toby’s carrier from Mrs. Collingwood, let him out, then refilled his water bowl and set out some kibble for him. After washing her hands, she put the kettle on and invited Mrs. Collingwood to sit at the table. She found an unopened package of Bourbons and apologized for the lack of anything homemade.

While they sat at the table drinking their tea, Molly said hesitantly, “Mycroft suggested I bring some things to keep at the house. I was planning to leave it at clothing items.” She paused, looking at Mrs. Collingwood. “What do you think?”

Mrs. Collingwood wiped her mouth, then leveled a gaze on Molly. “I think you should take that as an invitation to bring some of your personal items if you want.” She looked around the room. “What about your kitten magnets?”

Molly laughed. “Oh, he’d just _love_ that! Hmmm, you know what ... I think I will bring one and see if he notices – or says anything.” They grinned as co-conspirators.

When they left at 11:30, Molly had her work clothes for Tuesday, some other clothes and an extra pair of shoes, a few books, and two kitten magnets for the fridge. Before they left, Molly called Mrs. Harrison and asked her to check on Toby later.

When they got back to the house, Molly placed her magnets in a prominent place on the refrigerator, grinned at Mrs. Collingwood, then took her other things upstairs. Her phone rang when she reached her room, so she sat on the bed and dropped everything beside her.

“Hi, Mary! What a surprise!” As they chatted about seemingly everything but what had happened the previous Thursday, Molly felt sure the call was somehow prompted by Mycroft. A word in someone’s ear …. Mary asked Molly to come to theirs for dinner Tuesday evening, and she was happy to agree. They’d become pretty good friends since Mary became part of John’s life – all their lives – and it would be good to catch up. And she knew Mary was probably bursting to find out more about Molly and Mycroft since there was no way John had kept _that_ juicy bit of information to himself!

* * * * * * * * 

Mycroft got home around 6:30 and wasn’t called upon concerning work for the rest of the evening. They had dinner at 7:30, followed by a couple of hours in the music room, and then went upstairs around 10:30. 

After having their separate showers, Mycroft and Molly settled in the chairs by the fire in his room, having a glass of wine. “Mycroft … thank you for this weekend. I may not know all of what you’ve done on my behalf, but I know enough.” She smiled wryly at him. “I thought you avoided legwork.”

He scoffed. “Legwork? I have no idea what you mean.”

She put her glass down, then reached for his and put it on the table. She stood before him until he uncrossed his legs, then sat sideways on his lap, head tilted back over his upper arm, intentionally baring her throat to him, like making an offering to a vampire. She didn’t know where the desire to do so came from, but a thrill shot through her when he immediately took advantage … opening his mouth against her smooth pale skin and deliberately sucking his mark on her. Molly hummed, then caught her breath when he slipped his hand under the dressing gown and palmed her breast. Mycroft then demonstrated his strength by easily lifting Molly and carrying her to the bed, where he set out to prove again just how thorough he could be.

* * * * * * * * 

Molly was out of bed and in the shower early Tuesday. Breakfast was light and quick and eaten at the kitchen island. Afterwards, Molly thanked Mrs. Collingwood for her help and company over the weekend, surprised her with a quick kiss to her cheek, then offered her hand, which the housekeeper took between both of hers. “We’ll see you Friday, then?”

“That’s right.” They exchanged smiles, then Molly headed for the stairs. After brushing her teeth and smoothing her ponytail, she grabbed her handbag and went to Mycroft’s room. He was coming out of the dressing room, shrugging into his suit jacket. Molly went to him, smoothing her hands over the lapels. “Thank you for a lovely weekend.”

* * * * * * * * 

Walter greeted them as they left the house and settled in the car. It had been five days since they last shared a ride together and Molly found the trip more comfortable somehow. She turned her head to watch Mycroft as he focused on his phone. After a few minutes he turned his head and met her eyes. “All right, my dear?” 

She smiled. “Oh, yes.” 

He looked at her thoughtfully for several moments, then turned back to his phone. Molly continued watching him, but he didn’t seem to mind. When Walter pulled to a stop outside Bart’s, he immediately got out of the car, which was unusual. Molly watched him walk to the boot and lean against it, facing away from the car. She turned back to Mycroft, a question on her face, just as he slipped his hand around the side of her neck, tilted her head back, and kissed her. Molly grabbed his shoulder, feeling off-balance physically but also mentally as he’d never done such a thing while in work mode – and being in the car equaled work. It wasn’t a particularly passionate kiss, but it was thorough, and Molly felt flushed when he pulled back far enough for their eyes to meet.

“I hope today goes well, my dear,” he said, before giving her another quick kiss, then settling back in his corner. 

She stared at him, still astonished. “Mycroft …”

“You better go if you don’t want to be late,” he said, with a smile that warmed his eyes. “I’ll see you Friday evening.”

Molly smiled back at him, reeling inside, then got out and closed the door. She thanked Walter, and the car pulled away as she pushed through the doors of the hospital. She stopped just inside them as thoughts of Thursday filled her mind. She started down the corridor and right before she reached the first set of double doors, Mike Stamford came through them, greeted her cheerfully, and turned around to walk with her to the lab. He stayed while she put her things in her office and picked up her clipboard with the day’s schedule. By the time he left, she felt more herself. 

Her morning was filled with lab-related duties as there were no post mortems on her list, then at 11:30, Greg Lestrade came barging through the lab doors, calling her name. Molly shot up, alarmed, until she saw his big grin. “So, how are the lovebirds after a long weekend?”

“Greg!” She said, flushing. “Keep it down!”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You all right, Molls?”

“I’m fine. How about you?”

“In this job, you have to set things aside and keep going, so I’m working on it.” [She squeezed his arm.] “I really came by to ask if you’d like to go to the pub for lunch. I have to visit someone upstairs, but could be back for … 12:30?”

“I’d like that. Thanks, Greg.” When he left the lab, Molly wondered if Mycroft had put Greg up to the invitation and wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she was correct.

* * * * * * * * 

Next to show up were Sherlock and John, mid-afternoon. “Hi, guys!” She greeted them cheerfully. “What’s going on?”

For two hours, Molly had the dubious pleasure of running around the lab and several other departments handling Sherlock’s various requests – i.e., demands – for assistance, and she was happy for work to feel normal again. As they were leaving, John came over and put his arm around Molly’s shoulders, kissed her cheek, and said, “So we’ll see you about 7:30?”

“Looking forward to it. Thanks, John.”

“Come on, John!” Sherlock was waiting at the door, fidgeting impatiently. When John started that way, he called out, “Laterz, Molly!” then turned with a dramatic swirl of his coat.

Molly walked to her office, smiling. She was sure Mycroft had a hand in that timing as well.

A few hours later, Mary opened her front door before Molly could reach for the knocker and pulled Molly into the house with a squeal. “It’s been far too long, Molly! And …” [giving her a stern look] “…there’s obviously much to catch up on.”

Molly flushed. “Well …”

“To the kitchen with me _now_ … and you can start at the beginning.”

“Mary …”

“Or wherever you feel comfortable, but I need some details … please!” She stopped abruptly, causing Molly to almost run into her. “You and Mycroft Holmes … oh my god.”

“I know - oh my god … Can you believe it?” And the girl talk ensued.

Having heard the start of it on Molly’s arrival, John wisely kept Elizabeth entertained in her room, waiting for the first burst of excited chatter to pass downstairs. 

By the time Molly got home from a wonderful evening with the Watsons, she had just enough energy to greet Toby, take a quick shower, and fall into bed. However, she was not quite sober enough to keep from grabbing her phone from the bedside table and sending Mycroft a text.

_\- **It’s been a long day without you, my friend, and I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again. We’ve come a long way from where we began, and I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again. MH xxx_

Mycroft didn’t recognize the message as being song lyrics, but he correctly deduced that his Molly was a bit sloshed. He looked forward to showing her the text evidence when they next met. He rolled over, grinning wickedly, and focused on falling asleep.

__________ 

_** From Wiz Khalifa's and Charlie Puth's, "See You Again"_


	10. Lovely When You Bring Your Friends Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff ... seasonal fluff ... sexy fluff -- or fluffy sex(?) ... FLUFF!!
> 
> By the way, the beginning of this chapter is where my attempt to write originated, after the first few scenes popped into my head, fully formed, on the way home from a concert six weeks ago. _[Dear lord, it's only been six weeks?]_ My current obsession might never have come about if it weren't for my love for baroque music! Argh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the surname of Mycroft's housekeeper from Carlton to Collingwood because I was re-reading a story I first read months ago and realized that writer had used "Mrs. Carlton." I thought the name just popped in my head when I started writing this in June, but it may have been a carryover from reading the other story. If so, it was unintentional and I sent the writer an apology earlier tonight. I'm going to fix the name in the earlier chapters as time permits. If anyone has used Collingwood, I did NOT copy it! I just ran a search of common UK surnames beginning with "C" and simply liked that one. :)

“We’re ready. Can you come now?”

“Molly, I’m in the middle of –”

“Sherlock, you promised, and Mycroft doesn’t have much time.”

[Annoyed huff] “On my way ….”

* * * * * * * * 

_“What?_ Where are you going?” [Walking across the room] “You’re just gonna leave this bloody mess - _oh, god … is that a thumb?!?_ \- on the kitchen table –”

“John! Got to go. Molly needs me.”

“Should I come?”

“NO!”

* * * * * * * * 

“Mycroft, you came in too early.”

“On the contrary, little brother, my timing as always was perfect.”

[Eye roll] “Molly, how do you stand his clumsy fingering.”

“Don’t stop!”

“Your left hand’s a bit out of control there, Molly.”

“Shut up, brother mine – keep going, Molly dear … almost there –”

“Oh, oh … just one last little … _ahhhhhhhh.”_

Deep breaths were drawn all around, then the brothers scowled at each other before turning to Molly, who grinned impishly at them and blew some dangling hairs off her cheek.

Mycroft, glancing at his pocket watch: “I have time for another go, but it has to be a quick one.”

“If you’d just stop plodding along –”

“Shut up, Sherlock! Mycroft has _brilliantly_ dexterous fingers!!”

Mycroft, pink-cheeked: _“SHUT UP, MOLLY!”_

* * * * * * * * 

_Christmas Eve, Mycroft’s music room, lit by a blazing fire, flickering candles, and twinkling tree lights, as the last note faded …_

John snapped his mouth shut with an audible click of teeth and slowly shook his head in amazement. “That ... was … bloody _amazing!”_ Eyes stretched wide, mouth again agape, he stared from one maddeningly secretive Holmes brother to the other and finally looked at Molly, his lips quirking into a smile, as he again slumped back on the sofa. He straightened abruptly and turned to Mary, brows lowered in a suspicious frown. “Did you know about this?”

“Nope,” Mary said, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, John … you know those three are the best secret-keepers in England -” [glanced at Sherlock] “… sorry, the Commonwealth -” [glanced again at Sherlock] “… Oh, right, sorry – _the world!”_

Sherlock grinned, toothily. “Oh, Mary … spare my blushes.”

At the same time, from across the room: “Boys, Molly –” [sniff]

“No crying, Mummy, or the performance ends here.”

“No, Myc –” [seeing his grimace, Violet hastily continued] “- roft … please go on. Siger, _tell_ them.”

“Here," he said, handing her his handkerchief. “Why do the women in this family never prepare for tears? _Ow_ – that hurt!” Siger rubbed where Violet pinched his arm, then pulled her to him, dropping a kiss on her forehead. 

Sherlock scowled ferociously, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, god – don’t start that or I’m out of here!” 

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, but successfully suppressed his own scowl. “Oh, do grow up, little brother.”

“Yes, _do_ get a grip, Sherlock," Molly said, lips twitching, "and stop twiddling with that bow.” She returned to the piano, changed the sheet music, then raised her eyebrows expectantly, first meeting Mycroft’s eyes - giving him an appreciative smile for his (mostly) successful effort to hide his impatience and get through the evening graciously - and then turning to Sherlock. “Ready?”

Mycroft rubbed his temple and sighed deeply, but again sat in his chair by the piano, positioned the cello between his knees, picked up the bow, and gave his still scowling brother a dead-eyed glare. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock reluctantly placed the violin under his chin and lifted the bow. “Oh, if we must …”

And the sweet sounds of Violet’s favorite Mozart Trio filled the room.

* * * * * * * * 

By 11 p.m., John and Mary, wanting to spend Christmas morning at their own home, had been driven off in Mycroft’s car after collecting a sleeping Elizabeth from Mrs. Collingwood. 

Shortly thereafter, Mycroft and Sherlock successfully escaped Violet’s watchful eyes and headed to a dark corner of the back garden, where Mycroft leaned toward his brother, flicking his lighter. Sherlock took a deep draw and released a slow stream of smoke.

“Are we to expect this to be an annual event, brother dear?”

Mycroft tilted his head back and carefully blew a smoke ring at the moon. “What a ghastly thought.” Another slow inhale, then a second smoke ring followed the first, before he gave Sherlock a withering look. “We could hardly return to The Cottage so soon after last year’s events.”

“Point taken.”

They smoked in companionable silence for several minutes, then Mycroft dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it underfoot. “Coming?”

Sherlock took a final puff and ground the butt into the grass before responding, gloomily, “After you.”

* * * * * * * * 

At midnight, looking martyred, Sherlock suffered through Molly’s enthusiastic hug and an even more encompassing squeeze from Mummy that ended with her staring up at him, hands enveloping his cheeks, and whispering, _“Thank you, my darling boy.”_ Sherlock awkwardly kissed her cheek and strode quickly to the front door, coat dramatically swirling, curls in a wild halo. In the sitting room, Mycroft exchanged eye rolls with his father on hearing the door slam.

By 1:30 a.m., Siger and Violet had sunk lower and lower into the deeply cushioned sofa where they’d been idly chatting from time to time with Mycroft and Molly …

_(“Hmm? Oh, Mycroft found out I played the piano but stopped when I moved to London. He encouraged me to go back to it and -” [glanced at Mycroft, rolling her eyes] “… made suggestions for pieces to work on. At first, I didn’t know he had a secret plan and that it included Sherlock. Mycroft badgered me to keep practicing, but it took ages for them to stomach rehearsing with me.” [Mycroft exhaled noisily.] “Oh, c’mon – you were just as rude about it as Sherlock. Anyway, you must have noticed how they modified my part to make the Mozart easier.”)_

… but mostly time passed with the four of them – five counting Toby, who was purring on Siger’s lap - simply staring rather sleepily at the still blazing fire. 

The younger couple were on the matching sofa facing Violet and Siger. Molly’s shoes were kicked off, bare feet drawn up to the side under the skirt of her dress, and Mycroft was trying to look relaxed while keeping a discreet, three-inch space between their bodies. To tease him, Molly occasionally shifted her position just a fraction, hiding her amusement when Mycroft flinched before carefully mirroring her movements in order to maintain his distance. Finally, hiding a wicked grin, she deliberately dropped her head against his suddenly rigid upper arm. He glanced down at her, meeting her eyes with a stern glare, and drew his lips into a straight line. _(Ahhh … The Iceman Stare.)_ Molly gave him her most innocent look, then abruptly yawned, with an audible squeak, before she could cover her mouth. Blushing, she turned hastily to his parents and apologized.

“No, dear … we should have let you get to bed before now, but this has all been more wonderful than I ever -” Violet broke off with a sniffle, then struggled a bit to scoot forward from the cushions. Siger set Toby down and stood to help her up. 

Mycroft also started to rise, but his mother blocked his path, causing him to look up at her, apprehensively. Leaning over, she gently rubbed her thumb across his cheek, until her hand rested against the side of his head. “Mycroft, my beautiful boy.” His eyes dropped, cheeks darkening. “Thank you, darling. Your dad and I will never forget this ... you sitting here with us, enjoying – I hope! – the peace and quiet.”

Stepping to the side, Violet leaned over to kiss Molly's forehead. “And dear girl, how can I tell you what this -” [waving her hand vaguely between the younger couple] “… means to us.” 

Molly’s eyes moistened. “Mrs. Holmes –”

“Violet, please – or, if you like, Mummy or Mum.”

Molly dropped her feet to the floor, stood and moved into Violet’s arms, resting her head against the taller woman’s chest. A moment later, there was a sniffle, and Mycroft sighed.

“Miss Hooper -”

“I know, I know - too much sentiment ...” Molly’s voice trailed off as she slowly turned her head to look at Mycroft, a glint in her eyes and a crease between her brows. “‘Miss Hooper?’ _Really?”_

Mycroft sat up, his body visibly tensing as his eyes met Molly’s and she leveled her version of a dead-eyed stare on him. He cleared his throat a bit nervously. _(No, damn it, not nervously. I’m certainly NOT afraid of Miss Molly Hooper!)_ He kept his eyes on hers and saw the moment her expression softened and an entirely different emotion took over. _(Oh, god -- not that, not now …)_ He scooted forward and started to stand.

Molly’s stare had lowered to Mycroft’s mouth. Those gorgeous, soft lips … Silently, _mmmmm._ Then aloud: “Oh, _YOU!”_

Giving him no time to react, Molly shoved a visibly horrified Mycroft back, swiftly dropped sideways onto his lap, wrapped both hands around his head, and forcefully dragged his mouth to hers. Mycroft instinctively started to push her away but feared that Molly, in such a teasing mood, wasn’t above getting into an undignified tussle in front of his parents. As she lingered a moment against his lips, what started as soft chuckles from his parents changed to delighted laughter. Mycroft reached up to grab Molly’s wrists and gently but firmly pulled them away from his head. Molly could feel the warmth of the flush rising from his chin and up his cheeks as she slowly sat up, smirking. _(Iceman, indeed.)_

As their lips parted, Mycroft quickly looked toward his parents, an apology ready, only to see them halfway across the room and heading for the stairs, Dad’s arm wrapped around Mummy’s waist. “Happy Christmas, children,” came over Mummy’s shoulder as they reached the first step, followed by Dad’s deeper tone. “Sleep well.”

Mycroft called after them, a bit hoarsely: “Merry Christmas!” 

Molly added, cheerfully: “See you in the morning.” She rested her chin against his arm and looked up with a sweet smile: “Forgive me?”

Mycroft glared at her indignantly and jerked his arm away. _“NO!”_

Molly flashed him her best puppy-dog eyes, then sighed wistfully and headed dejectedly toward the kitchen, carefully hiding her smirk until she turned the corner.

* * * * * * * * 

_At 2:30 a.m., a private rendezvous between lovers, like a scene from a big-screen romance …_

Fairy lights intertwined with holly branches on the mantle and a freshened fire illuminate the shadows of the big room, soft golden flickers touch the two figures pressed front-to-front on the wide bed, catch the shine of a smooth knee bending upwards along a bare masculine hip, glint on pale fingers clutching a broad muscular back. Then from a panting Molly, breathlessly – _“Brilliantly dexterous indeed, My –”_ [gasps] _“-croft!”_ Moans break from both of them. The shadowy figures suddenly roll over, Molly now looking down at Mycroft, a deliciously husky laugh huffs from him, more panting gasps from her, then he rolls them again, pauses for a moment, lowering his forehead to hers, then drops his face into the crook of her neck, his lips dragging against her throat. A few moments pass, then Molly’s other knee rises and she wraps her legs around him, resting her crossed feet at the base of his spine. Another pause before a quiver ripples through her, a groan shudders from him, and he arches back to raise his upper body onto his forearms. Their breaths quicken, he groans again, deeply … _“Molly.”_ Then bodies adjusting, sharp movements of limbs, figures separating to change angles, pressing, pressing, grinding together, him sliding deep and deeper still, a momentary rest, then a dragging withdrawal and deliberately slow thrust, over and over in a relentlessly steady pace, a continuous pull and push, hot wet friction, sweat-slicked flesh rubbing rhythmically, choked murmurs, thrusts quickening, an abrupt break in rhythm, a high-pitched scream smothered against his shoulder, fading into wet gasps tickling his skin. Molly’s teeth nip the tensed muscle between his neck and shoulder. A powerful surge by Mycroft, a cut-off shout, then his complete collapse.

Still joined, chests heaving, limbs entangled, both of them experiencing that melting feeling of not knowing where one’s body ends and the other’s begins. Ragged breathing slows and quietens. A soft apology from Mycroft and an attempt to slide to the side. A muffled denial from Molly and swift tightening of arms and legs, locking him on and in her. Heads pull back just enough for gazes to meet in the flickering light, lips touch softly, press together more heavily, then separate to allow tips of tongues to tease, then slide deep. Again pulling away for eyes to meet. Another quick press of lips from Mycroft, then a deep sigh and tightening of muscles as he finally rolls off, pulling Molly with him. 

A resettling … Mycroft on his back, Molly alongside, head nestled under his arm, which then wrapped around her back. A happy sigh from Molly. “Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

“Merry Christmas, my dear Molly.” Looking down at her, he continued, sternly. “But you’re still not forgiven.”

* * * * * * * * 

Molly started to drift toward sleep. A moment passed ... two ... [Mycroft was about to release the breath he was holding] … three – _[damn]_ – as Molly snorted and sat up. He sighed silently and waited. 

_“‘Miss Hooper?’_ For god’s sake, Mycroft! Your penis has been in my body so many times that I finally stopped counting.”

“37.”

“You’ve even come in my m-" [broke off] “Wait … _what?”_

“We’ve had sexual intercourse 37 times.” 

“37 times? _You’ve been COUNTING?!?”_ Molly fell back onto her pillow, utterly confounded.

Mycroft rolled over, propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her. “I wasn’t deliberately keeping track – it just happens. To be exact, we’ve had penetrative intercourse 37 times, I’ve performed cunnilingus 11 times, and you’ve performed fellatio nine times. I suppose fingers should count as penetrative, so we’d need to add another –”

Molly’s face got redder and redder and her eyes wider and wider as Mycroft recited their sexual history, oh-so-matter-of-factly, until she grabbed her pillow and dragged it over her face. "Oh my _gawwdd."_ [Faintly]

“What did you say, my dear?” 

Silence.

“Can you breathe under there?”

Silence.

[Indistinct muttering]

More silence … then Mycroft started to chuckle, then he was laughing and laughing and kept on laughing as he rolled over and sat on the side of the bed, hands braced on his knees. Molly shoved the pillow off and glared at his back. 

_“You GIT!”_

Mycroft doubled over, still laughing. He finally gasped and stood, holding his side and looking down at Molly – eyes bright with amusement, tear tracks on his flushed cheeks, and face split by a wide, toothy grin. Molly glowered at him and he rubbed a hand over his face, looked at her again, soberly, then quickly turned and headed for the bathroom. As soon as the door shut, she heard him burst into laughter.

Molly huffed through her nose, but then started to smile. That Mycroft could laugh like a loon was one of her most cherished secrets. The way The Iceman thawed in their private times thrilled her heart - even if occasionally being due to a joke at her expense. _The rat_ [fondly].

* * * * * * * * 

Molly’s eyes were closed when Mycroft slipped back into bed, but she sat up and swiveled toward him as soon as he settled on his back. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and cleared his throat upon meeting her stare. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Nice try, Mycroft.” Molly rolled her eyes and snorted. “You almost managed to wiggle out of our previous conversation.” 

He looked … alarmed? Resigned? Molly was unsure but could feel how rigid his body had become. Sighing, she moved over and onto him, hands splayed across his chest, fingers combing through his chest hair. She dropped her head between her hands and pressed her cheek to his chest. 

“Mycroft, I share your reluctance for public displays, but you don’t seem willing to acknowledge even to your parents that we’re – that we’re in a –“ [huffed in frustration] “… that we’re whatever it is and have been so in some fashion for the past six months.” Molly hesitated, biting her lip. “Mycroft, you do truly consider me a friend now, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do, Molly.” He lifted his hands to her shoulders, then slowly slid them down her back, stopping when he was cupping her hips. Molly shivered, then stilled. “You’re my best friend.”

“According to you, I’m your _ONLY_ friend, so that’s hardly high praise.” She rolled her eyes, then continued more seriously. “There’s no ‘of course’ about it, Mycroft. I know you care for me in some way or you’d never have been with me like this. Believe me, even after all these months, I’m _still_ amazed that you’ve chosen to be with me - to let me into your life in any way.” She kissed his chest. “I don’t want to change you ... not one little bit. I don’t want to do anything to destroy your Ice Man image –”

“It’s _not_ an image -” [he muttered, grumpily] “… I _AM_ an Ice Man.”

_“Shhhh”_ [pressing her forefinger against his lips]. "You have an amazing heart.” Molly ignored the scoffing noises against her finger. “Yes, I know - caring is not an advantage and all that.” She pushed herself further up his chest and looked down at him. “Just don’t start backing away from me now. Please, Mycroft.” 

"No more accidental 'Miss Hoopers' to my parents, I promise." He slid his hands back up to her neck, then around to cup her cheeks. “And I have absolutely no intention of backing away from our relationship." Before Molly could react to his finally uttering the "R" word, he captured her lips and pulled her tightly to him, their kiss deepening, tongues dueling, breathing getting ragged again. 

Molly hummed as she felt a definite spark of interest in his nether regions. _"Mmmmm -"_ [smiling slowly as she drew her mouth away from his] "... so soon, Mycroft?” 

“Well, I just thought ... now that we have _that_ sort of sorted –” He gasped sharply as Molly wiggled her hand between their bodies, grasped him lightly, and started sliding down.

“You got it, Ice Man,” she drawled, wickedly, “since it’s Christmas.” 

Mycroft’s only response was to groan. Loudly and at length.

* * * * * * * * 

Ten minutes later, Molly reached over Mycroft to switch off the lamp, then flopped down beside him. 

“10.”

A full minute passed before a completely wrung-out Mycroft muttered, “I forgive you, Molly.”

Molly laughed, slung an arm over his middle, and finally went to sleep.


	11. Am I Happy Too ... I Haven't Checked

_Christmas Day_

Mycroft left his dressing room early Christmas morning and crossed to the bed, where Molly was still asleep, flat on her stomach, covers pulled over her ears, only the crown of her head being visible. Smiling, he took his phone from the bedside table, then quietly left. As he went down the hall, Toby darted out of Molly’s room, bell jingling on a bright green bow tied around his neck.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, wondering how and when Molly had slipped out of bed to do that and returned without waking him, and then followed the cat down the stairs and into the kitchen, checking his pocket watch. _7:00._ He looked at the worktop, turned around when he saw the tea tray was missing, and found his father at the kitchen island, watching him with an amused expression. Mycroft mentally winced, then went to take the turkey out of the refrigerator and put it on the counter before taking a seat across from Siger. “Morning, Dad … er, Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Mycroft.” He reached for the teapot, poured Mycroft a cup, and slid the saucer across to him. “Hope you slept well.”

“Yes ...” Mycroft glanced at Siger, looked at his cup, glanced back up at his dad, then turned his head to stare out the window, uncomfortably aware that the tips of his ears were probably turning pink. “Thanks.”

They sipped their tea in silence for several minutes. His dad cleared his throat and Mycroft turned back to him. They stared at each other, silently, for some time, then Siger raised his right brow. With an effort, Mycroft maintained a neutral expression, but then his dad gave him a smile, which slowly widened into a rather wicked grin. Mycroft paled and pressed his lips together into a thin line, reminding himself that his bedroom was sound-proofed. His dad stroked his cheek, a flicker of amusement passing over his features. Mycroft cleared his throat and _(damn it)_ knew his cheeks were flushing. He tried an indignant glare, but eventually his lips twitched. “It’s from Molly, OK?”

They went back to sipping their tea and talking a bit about nothing in particular. Siger finally stood, took his empty cup to the sink, then walked back to the island, stopping at his son’s side and resting a hand on his shoulder. When Mycroft looked up, Siger said, “I’m proud of you, son.” He gave Mycroft’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll just go see what’s keeping Violet.”

As his dad’s footsteps faded away, Mycroft finished his tea and then carefully placed the cup in its saucer just so. 

* * * * * * * * 

They would have to make do for themselves for meals and housekeeping. Mycroft had told Mrs. Collingwood to take the week off, but she’d delayed her departure until that morning. Her son was arriving from Sydney and they were leaving straight from Heathrow for her other son’s home in Sussex. She’d called Mycroft on the house phone before leaving for the airport at 6:00 to wish them all a happy Christmas.

Mycroft expected his mother would be down shortly to make breakfast since she liked doing that. He poured himself another cup of tea, then paused with the cup halfway to his mouth, unexpectedly thinking about Molly and the special "gift" she’d had for him in the wee hours of the morning. He felt his groin twitch and - _“Bloody hell,”_ he muttered under his breath, as his mother walked into the kitchen, followed by his dad. He was appalled that his parents had caught him thinking about sex with Molly. The only good news was their appearance had an immediate deflating effect, so problem solved.

“Good morning, dear,” his mother greeted him, kissing his cheek. “Merry Christmas.” She straightened with a frown and held her palm to his forehead. “You feel a little warm, Myc. Do you feel like you’re coming down with something?” Her gaze moved lower and her jaw dropped.

For a moment, he wanted to bang his head against the table until he was unconscious. “It’s Mycroft and, no, I feel fine.” He stood and kissed her forehead. “Merry Christmas, Mummy.”

Violet raised her gaze. “Where’s Molly?”

“She’s still in bed –“

“No, she’s not,” Molly interrupted, coming quickly into the kitchen, ponytail tied with a bright red bow that, like Toby’s, jingled with every step. “Merry Christmas, everyone!” She hugged his dad _[“ooh, nice bow tie, Siger!”],_ then his mother, and finally turned toward Mycroft, bright-eyed and smiling. She froze, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Merry Christmas, Molly,” he said, giving her a light kiss on the lips before turning them toward his parents with a hand on the small of her back. He’d felt Molly flinch in shock at his touch and, without looking, knew she continued to stare up at him, while his parents watched with raised brows. He was determined to ignore their (over)reaction. “So, Mummy … what’s first on your agenda?”

His mother quickly rallied. “Let’s get some breakfast going.” 

* * * * * * * * 

Even Mycroft pitched in, and thirty minutes later, the four of them were sitting in the dining room, passing platters around and pouring each other cups of tea and juice. Mycroft was surprised at how easily the conversation flowed -- that his parents were chatting as if they’d known Molly for ages, that his mother wasn’t trying to sneak in questions about their relationship, that none of their usual concerns were voiced about his work schedule, his life, his health … that indeed nothing particularly aggravating occurred. He quickly realized Molly’s presence and ease of manner had taken the focus off of him.

Afterwards, they carried everything back to the kitchen, then Violet dismissed Mycroft and Siger, who headed to the sitting room to read the morning papers by the fire. Molly and Violet took care of the breakfast cleanup, then discussed what needed to be done for Christmas dinner. Mrs. Collingwood had prepared a good portion of it ahead of time and little more was needed for those things to be ready. Molly had made mince pies, and Violet had brought her Christmas cake. The turkey had been stuffed and in the oven for two hours, and the salmon just needed a dill sauce. The vegetables wouldn’t take long to cook; the sausage rolls, bread sauce and gravy would heat up quickly; and the pudding was ready to be steamed closer to eating time. Champagne was already chilled, and Siger was in charge of the wines and other drinks.

“Sherlock and Mycroft can set the table,” Violet decided, adding with a grin, “since they so enjoy any opportunity to work together.”  


“I’d like to see that!” Molly laughed, then excused herself to go upstairs. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Siger and Mycroft turned toward the sitting room door as the sound of jingling approached. Molly hesitated in the doorway at seeing them both staring at her, then crossed the room, one hand held behind her back. She came to a stop in front of Mycroft, who looked up at her curiously.

“Here –” Molly brought her hand around.

Mycroft looked at what she was offering, then raised his fingers to his throat. “You don’t like it?”

She grinned at him, wrinkling her nose. “I never thought you’d wear it. I thought you’d pass it on to your dad.” Siger chuckled behind her. “Here –” [waving her hand from side to side].

“Actually, I’ll keep this one -,” Mycroft said, stroking a finger down his cheek. “… if only to see Sherlock’s reaction.” 

And that’s how Mycroft ended up wearing a bow tie on Christmas day – a muted shade of sage green silk with darker green holly leaves and bright red berries. Molly returned the rejected tie to his dressing room.

* * * * * * * * 

They didn’t have long to wait for his brother’s reaction. Shortly after 1:00, Mycroft had just stepped into the hall from the kitchen when Sherlock let himself in using a key that he’d purloined years before (not that Mycroft really tried to get it back).

“Ho, ho, ho, little brother,” he greeted him drolly.

“Ah, brother dear … already been at the mince –” Sherlock broke off, staring fixedly at Mycroft’s bow tie. “Hmmm ... it appears that having regular sex is turning you into dad -”

 _“SHERLOCK!”_ He jumped, whirling to face Violet, his cheeks turning pink, then froze in place, blinking slowly. When Molly came to stand beside Violet, both women glaring, Mycroft actually felt sorry for Sherlock for a moment … possibly a nanosecond … then smirked.

Sherlock unfroze and almost leapt toward his mother, throwing his arms around her and noisily kissing her cheek, then turning to Molly. He paused at the expression on her face, then bent slowly and gave her a soft peck on the cheek. Both women relented and smiled at him when he straightened, then Violet reached up to brush some curls off his forehead. 

They all turned as Siger came into the hall from the sitting room. Sherlock greeted him cheerfully without any snide remarks, though he did squint at his dad’s shiny red bow tie. Before taking off his coat, Sherlock reached into various pockets, switching hands from side to side, each time emerging with a small, brightly wrapped present that he handed to one of the others. 

* * * * * * * * 

They sat down to Christmas dinner at 2:30 p.m., and it was a noisier affair than usual. Siger and Violet met each other’s eyes often and exchanged eye rolls at sharing the table with _three_ overgrown children, as Molly seemed to fall into squabbling with Sherlock as easily as his brother did. She even got into playful arguments with Mycroft. What they noticed, however, was a lessening of the caustic nature of the brothers’ verbal dueling. It was almost … _affectionate,_ though Siger and Violet wouldn’t dream of pointing that out. Molly seemed to have had a positive effect on both sons.

They all left the dining room just before 3:00 to watch the Queen’s speech in the sitting room. The others sighed noisily at Sherlock’s surprised comment, “Oh, we have a queen?” Afterwards, they returned to the dining room and made further headway with their sumptuous repast, before eventually carting the remains to the kitchen. Even Sherlock ate more than usual, but only to the point of mild indigestion, so enjoyed making rude comments about what he called the others’ gluttony as they all slumped in mutual misery on sofas and chairs after putting the leftovers away. 

Behind his parents’ backs, Mycroft gave his brother a two-fingered salute, while Molly escalated their response with the flick of a middle finger.

Sherlock just gave them his freakishly toothy “Joker’s” grin.

* * * * * * * * 

Late in the afternoon, Mycroft got a call and left the room, phone to ear. Until Molly saw his face fall into its neutral mask, lips tight, she hadn’t realized how relaxed Mycroft had been all day. She heard the study door close behind him.

Sherlock shot up with a clap of his hands. He crossed to the sofa where his parents were sitting, gave each of them a brisk kiss on the cheek, turned around to smile at Molly who was sitting on the opposite sofa, and then headed to the door without giving any of them much time to react. Violet and Siger called their goodbyes at his back, but Molly jumped up and followed him. 

She caught him in the front hall, donning his coat with a swirl. Before he could take defensive actions, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him to a stop. “You don’t have to go, Sherlock,” she said, looking up at him insistently. 

“I really do, Molly,” he said, flicking his eyes from side to side before meeting her gaze again. “I need –”

“All right, Sherlock,” she said softly, pulling him down to give him a sweet kiss on his cheek. “But I wish you’d stay.”

He gently removed her fingers from his coat. “I’ll see you at Bart’s. Tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“Right.” She watched him put on his scarf and pull on gloves. “Wait a minute.” She hurried to the sitting room and came back with a bag of presents. “Don’t forget these.”

“Thanks, Molly.” She watched him leave, then closed the front door with a sigh. She knew Sherlock could stand only a limited amount of togetherness but hated to think of him being alone even if it was what he wanted. She stopped to lean against the wall, taking her phone out of her pocket. She thought for a moment, then sent a text. A reply came in just a few minutes.

_\-- Merry Christmas to you as well, Molls! Ours was great though Lizzie seemed to prefer the wrapping paper to what came in it! No worries – we’ll get S over here later or will drop by Baker St. See ya soon. JW_

* * * * * * * * 

Almost three hours after leaving the sitting room, Mycroft shut down the laptop, then slumped back in his chair, eyes closed, his features strained. After several minutes, he sighed tiredly and straightened his back. As he opened his eyes, the new addition to his desk caught his attention. The beautifully framed pen-and-ink drawing depicted Molly in her labcoat, bright-eyed and smiling up at him, Mycroft in a suit, a spark of amusement in his eyes but expression otherwise impassive as he leaned rather jauntily on his umbrella, both of them being shown in full-length partial profile, facing each other from a few feet away, against a background of roughly sketched images associated with their work – Bart’s, Scotland Yard, The Diogenes Club, etc. The caricature gave gentle humor to their slightly exaggerated figures (the artist had been surprisingly tactful about Mycroft’s nose) and was very well done. When Molly gave it to him, Mycroft was initially concerned that anyone had seen him well enough to create such a drawing. She said she’d “commissioned” it from a member of Sherlock’s homeless network who always seemed to be about somewhere. Studying the neat lines of the drawing, Mycroft wondered if the caricaturist did any other type of artwork ... and if he’d be interested in getting off the streets. He’d have to ask Molly.

Mycroft looked up at a tap on his door and checked his pocket watch when his mother slowly pushed the door open. “Come in, Mummy,” he said, snapping his watch closed. “I’m sorry this has taken so long.” He rounded his desk to meet her in front of the fireplace.

She looked at him silently, a crease between her brows. “You look tired,” she finally said. “Are you finished with work for the night?”

Mycroft gestured toward the wingchairs and waited for Violet to sit before taking the other chair. “That should be all, but –” He shrugged, then sat back, crossed his legs, and draped his hands over the chair arms.

Violet studied him for a few moments, then sighed. “Mycroft, I know you are bracing yourself for whatever ghastly conversation you imagine is coming. I hope this doesn’t rise to that, but I need to say something to you, and your dad agrees with everything I’m about to say.” She took a deep breath. 

“Darling boy, although we have grieved over it, we had finally come to accept that you needed, or thought you needed, to be alone, to stay isolated from people, to avoid personal contact and messy emotions, to do your job. I am not asking you what your intentions are in regard to Molly, but we know you think yourself cold-hearted at best, heartless at worst. Your dad and I know better.” 

She shifted to face him. “We are amazed and delighted that you’ve allowed Molly to crack that shell, but we do understand why you have. You are far too intelligent not to have recognized how special she is. Molly is a lovely woman in every way, such an incredible mix of practicality and whimsy, dark humor and lightness of heart, hard-eyed realism and rainbow-hued optimism. Despite all that she’s seen and how lonely her adult life has been with no real family, she’s remained so warm-hearted and caring. She seems to understand you and to accept all the quirks, for want of a better word, of your life and the demands of your work. She even seems to accept that work comes first for you – work that she knows will always be in the shadows, held secret from her. We truly never imagined someone would somehow come into your orbit who not only suits you so well but that you’d take notice of her … and actually _pursue_ a friendship.”

Violet paused and sighed. “Whatever happens is obviously between the two of you, but know that if this -- ‘relationship’…” [she arched a brow, and he nodded] “… continues, we will support the both of you in every way.” She leaned forward and took his hand. “Mycroft, my darling boy, you deserve to be happy – or at least to be truly content, which is a sort of happiness in itself. You must know that Molly is happy being with you. She fairly glows with it. Whatever you’re doing is enough ... _you_ are enough. Whatever you feel you lack in sentiment, in romance, Molly doesn’t need it. She is happy with you just as you are.” She squeezed his hand and released it with a pat. “Your dad and I love you, too, you know – just the way you are.” 

She stood and smiled down at him. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I asked you no questions.”

Mycroft just looked at her for several moments, then stood and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Mummy.”

* * * * * * * *  
  
They came out of the study together and followed the sound of voices to the kitchen. Siger and Molly were sitting at the island, eating Christmas cake and drinking champagne. Toby was sprawled on the floor by Molly’s feet, batting at the hem of her trousers.

“Dear lord, Siger, where did you find room in your stomach?” Violet came to a stop beside his stool, reaching for his glass and taking a sip. “Umm, that _is_ good.” She dropped onto the stool alongside him.

Molly looked up at Mycroft. “What about you? You want some cake or something else?” She smiled when he took the last stool and reached for a side plate and fork from the stack in the middle of the island.

They made for a cozy group of four, each couple brushing shoulders and occasionally hands on their side of the table, facing the other couple across the rather narrow tabletop. Mycroft couldn’t remember a time since he’d become an adult when he’d laughed so much with his parents. By the time they all headed wearily upstairs, none of them was entirely sober. 

* * * * * * * * 

Molly stopped in the doorway to her room. “Ignore what I’ve done with some of your furniture. It’s just for tonight, and I’ll explain when I get there.” He raised his eyebrows, but nodded and continued down the hall. Molly got her bath, then put on her new pajamas and dressing gown, which were a pale, peach-colored silk. The dressing gown had roses embroidered on its lapels. Mycroft had chosen well.

When Mycroft came out of his dressing room, Molly was sitting on the side of the bed. She stood and ran her eyes down his body and back up. She’d given him new pajamas and dressing gown as well, also in silk, but his were a dark silvery gray except for the black T-shirt style top. He started to reach for her, but she ducked to the side.

“Do me a favor and don’t ask any questions … just come over here.” She backed away from him to the space she’d cleared earlier in front of the fireplace. Mycroft followed her and stopped where she pointed. While he waited, she went to turn off lights until only a bedside lamp, the fire and the fairy lights on the mantel lit the room. She then started some music, stepped in front of Mycroft and smiled. “Dance with me.”

“Dance?” He frowned.

“Yes, dance.” She pressed herself to him, front to front, and pulled his arms around her. “Come on, it’s just a slow dance – hardly a dance at all.” He slid one arm all the way around her, but brought the other one up to take her hand and hold it against his chest as they began swaying, their bare feet brushing against each other. “See? Another Christmas gift to me and it isn’t costing you a thing other than – what? Possibly a little dignity?”

Mycroft snorted, then leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “What is this music?”

“It’s by a group called E.S. Posthumus, but one of the brothers that started it died some years ago and that was the end of it. Anyway, I’ve programmed three tracks from their _Unearthed_ album -- first _Nara,_ then _Isfahan_ and lastly _Estremoz,_ but _Estremoz_ is going to repeat once, since I’ve fantasized for years about dancing to it with someone I – with someone.” They swayed in a circle to the beat, with Mycroft settling more into the rhythm as the song continued. “What do you think?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it ghastly,” he said dryly, then laughed when Molly reared back to glare at him. “It’s actually not too bad, for modern music.”

“I’ll have you know it’s been described as twenty-first century _classical_ music.”

“By whom? Their agent?”

“Oh, you!” She slid her free hand higher on his back and pressed closer. “I thought you might find it interesting, being such a combination of orchestral music and drums and – yes, I know – electronic sounds as well.” She pulled back to look up at him. “Maybe I should warn you that I find the third track extremely, um, hot.”

“I shall endeavor to endure whatever may ensue,” he said, deadpan.

“Oh, god – you have to kiss me after that,” she said, with a slow smile. He complied, while keeping them moving in a slow circle. Molly laid her head against his chest, humming along with the song. When the next track started, she pulled back to look at him and couldn’t stop a few tears from falling.

Mycroft came to a halt, looking concerned. “What is it?”

She pressed her face against him. “I just love this song so much, and I can’t believe we’re here, like this.” She turned her face to the side and sniffed. “I’ve cried by myself listening to this so many times.” She stepped away from him, smiling. “I know – you don’t get it.” She grimaced. “It’s the dreaded _sentiment.”_ As the track ended and the third began, she perked up. “Prepare yourself … we’re about to reach the whole point of this. Dressing gowns off now.”

As the rather dramatic opening measures of _Estremoz_ began, Molly lowered her head a bit and glanced up at Mycroft under her brows. When the song changed to a more Latin rhythm, she started moving her hips in a slow salsa step and held her hands out to him. Mycroft took them, but was biting his lip and had a crease between his brows. She held his gaze as she brushed against him teasingly, then twisted around, continuing her hip movements and adding shoulder action, rubbing against him from side to side as she pressed the back of her head against his chest. He slid his hands around her middle, laced his fingers against her lower stomach, then kissed the side of her neck. Molly moaned and twisted back to face him.

Molly took his hands and tugged him toward her as she continued dancing slowly, a dreamy look on her face. Mycroft regarded her for a moment like he might a King Cobra, then moved closer. She spread their arms out to the side, hands still clasped, and pressed her body against him, encouraging him to follow her undulating movements. She felt his heart rate increase under her cheek, then glanced up as the song came to a close. “The song’s about to start again. Try to think of it as having sex, standing up.”

Molly bit her lip to stifle a gasp when he did start to copy her movements. When he dropped one of her hands and raised their joined ones overhead, spinning her in a twirl, she gasped aloud. “OK, how did you know to do that?” He just smiled slowly and did it again. When he pulled her back to him, she let go of his hand and slid both arms around his waist and under his T-shirt, gripping his bare back. She felt him immediately react and pressed close. He took hold of her hips and pulled her closer still. 

They came to a stop as the music ended and Molly tilted her head back, smiling at him. “Thank you. Another fantasy checked off my list.” Mycroft leaned down to kiss her and passion exploded between them at the touch of their lips. Without pausing to consider the how or where of it, they were on the rug in front of the fire, pulling each other’s pajamas off, breaths ragged, open mouths dragging across whatever freshly bared skin they could reach, frantic to make the ultimate connection. He rolled over to take the brunt of the hard floor and watched while Molly rose above him, lifting on her knees and then sinking slowly onto him as she opened her eyes to stare into his. They both released a long, jagged breath as she lay on his chest, his hands moving to cup her backside and hold her tightly to him. After a few moments, Molly pushed herself up, then started riding him slowly, every dragging withdrawal and slow sliding return causing a sharp intake of breath. They continued to stare at each other and Molly felt naked in a way she never had before. She wanted to close her eyes against the intensity of his, but instead increased her pace. Mycroft gripped her hips more tightly, helping lift her on the withdrawals and pulling her more firmly to him on each return. Their movements became more vigorous, more deliberate, and he began lifting his hips on each of her strokes, pushing himself more firmly and deeply into her. He trailed one hand along the juncture of her hip and thigh until his thumb was rubbing her in exactly ... the … right … place … and Molly arched and threw her head back, coming with a loud groan. Mycroft moved his hand to grip her hip again and thrust sharply upwards once, twice … then came with a jerk on the third, falling back onto the floor, arms thrown wide. Molly collapsed onto his chest, and they lay there, panting. After a few minutes, she swallowed audibly and raised up enough to wipe off some drool that had pooled under her mouth. She didn’t have anywhere else to put it so wiped her hand against the rug. “Ugh … sorry.”

Mycroft huffed out a laugh. “Think nothing of it.” He finally had enough strength back to encircle her with his arms. “I think we need another shower.”

They eventually got to their feet and went to clean up, then fell into bed and almost immediately to sleep.

* * * * * * * * 

_Boxing Day_

The senior Holmeses were returning home that morning. Molly was due at work by 1 p.m., but needed to go to her flat first to leave Toby. Mycroft would head to the office after he dropped her off at Bart’s.

The four of them had another easy-going breakfast together, then Siger and Violet went upstairs to get their things together, leaving Mycroft and Molly on kitchen clean-up duty. Molly was surprised that he knew where things went and didn’t hesitate to roll up his sleeves and get his hands wet. 

“I do actually know my way around the kitchen,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I simply don’t need to put the knowledge into practice very often.”

Molly was not surprised that he loaded the dishwasher so methodically and efficiently. _Thorough in everything,_ she thought, then blushed. He happened to glance her way at that moment and paused, brows raised, before turning back to the sink.

* * * * * * * * 

An hour later, Mycroft stood with Molly outside the front door, watching as the car with his parents departed for the train station. Molly and his mother kept waving until the driver turned through the gates. Molly sighed, happily. “That went well,” she said, glancing up at him. “Don’t you agree?”

Mycroft looked down at her, brows raised. “I will admit their visit went much better than anticipated, and most of the credit for that goes to you, I think.” He took her hand and pulled her into the house, continued down the hall to his study, tugged Molly round his massive desk, then dropped into his chair and pulled her onto his lap. She squeaked in surprise and tried to get her balance, gasping as Mycroft claimed her lips in a kiss that started off passionate without any buildup. She grabbed blindly for his shoulders as he tipped her back over his arm, one hand cupping her head and the other curving around her backside, pressing her to him. 

Just when Molly thought she was going to pass out from shock and/or a lack of oxygen, Mycroft pulled away, breathing heavily and hotly against her face. He was staring at her – eyes piercing, face taut, nostrils flared, carotid artery visibly pounding in his neck. Molly stared back at him, wide-eyed, and tried to catch her breath. He continued to stare intently at her, and she suddenly thought he was waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. She became aware of his erection under her hip and, flustered, ducked her head to hide her face against his chest. 

Mycroft ran his fingers through Molly’s hair, once, twice, then again cupped his palm around the back of her head. He sighed and shifted his weight under her. She took that as a signal and sat up with a quick apology. “No, stay where you are – if you want to.” He reached between them, flipped his pocket watch open briefly, then slid his hand back under Molly’s hair and rested his hand against her bare nape. “We don’t have to leave for another hour.” 

Molly relaxed again, resting her cheek on Mycroft’s chest. She listened … to the steadying beats of his heart, his slow breaths … and concentrated on the placement of his hands, the press of each individual finger against her neck and hip. Picturing those long, strong, flexible fingers on her made Molly’s heart rate speed up again and her breath hitch. Mycroft hummed a question, then, “Molly, why don’t you stay here for the rest of the week?”

“You just want someone to cook for you while Mrs. C is gone,” she said, teasingly, her fingers twisting a button on his waistcoat. She let go of it and sat up straighter. “Seriously, though - I don’t want to leave Toby here alone while we’re at work. I’m not sure what he might get up to, having all this new territory to explore.” Molly shook her head. “I really need to take him back to the flat.” She bit her lip, thinking. “If Mrs. Harrison will be around, she might like to keep him at hers since she enjoys his company.”

“Or we could simply shut a lot of doors and limit his access,” Mycroft suggested.

Molly’s heart rate sped up at his continued urging. She tried to calm down when all she really wanted to do was to unzip his trousers and take him into her – right there, right then. “All right, if you think that will work.” She sighed. “I don’t mean to make such a big deal about it, but you have so many beautiful things here and the fixtures and finishes are – well, I’d hate to find out Toby sharpened his claws on any of them.”

“It will be all right, my dear,” Mycroft replied, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. “Even if Toby did do his worst, everything can be fixed – or, if something can’t, they’re just things, Molly.” She looked at him a bit wonderingly until Mycroft shifted again and this time helped her stand up. She blushed upon realizing he was still partially erect, so kept her face turned away. “Molly,” he whispered gently, causing her to look at him. A warm smile reached his eyes and lips, and Molly was absolutely enchanted, and she didn’t care if it showed. “Thank you for making this one Christmas I actually … didn’t hate.” He gave her a quick kiss. “We better tell Toby he’s staying,” he rolled his eyes when Molly giggled, “and barricade the off-limits areas.”

While Mycroft quickly went through the house shutting some of the doors, Molly went upstairs to find Toby, then brought him to the kitchen. She pulled his daybed into a sunnier spot near the window and set him down. “You be a good boy today, OK?”

Mycroft came to the kitchen door, holding Molly’s coat. “We need to go.” Molly walked ahead of him to the front hall, took her handbag from the hall table, then waited for Mycroft to grab his umbrella and open the door. His free hand took hers, threading their fingers together as they watched the car turn through the gate and come up the drive. Molly took a deep breath as she let go of his hand and stepped into the car.


	12. Here Be Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything had been going too well. Some angst was inevitable.

On the first Friday in February, Molly was in the middle of a post mortem when the morgue doors swished open. She glanced up, expecting to see a staff member or Sherlock, but instead locked eyes with Anthea, who had stopped a few feet into the room.

As they continued to look at each other, silently, Molly felt her heart start a dull pounding. She was vaguely aware that her hands had started shaking and pulled them out of Mrs. McKenzie’s chest cavity, breaking eye contact with Anthea to look at her hands like she’d never seen them before. She abruptly turned and went to the sink to wash off the worst of the gore before removing her gloves with a snap and finally turning back to Mycroft’s PA.

“Just tell me.”

Anthea looked down for a moment, then met Molly’s gaze. “Mr. Holmes – Mycroft has been delayed.”

“Delayed,” Molly repeated, tonelessly.

Anthea came several steps closer. “Yes, delayed. He won’t be home this weekend and wanted me to inform you.”

“I see.” Molly nodded. “So he’ll be out of town for a while yet, then?”

“A few more days, yes.”

“All right,” Molly said, dismissively. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Anthea looked at her for several moments, then turned and left. Molly quickly pulled a stool out and dropped onto it as her knees wobbled. She didn’t believe Anthea – or, rather, she believed Mycroft was out of town, but she didn’t believe he was simply delayed.

* * * * * * * * 

As soon as Molly got home, she turned on the television for news reports and ran searches on her computer for the latest news concerning hot spots around the world and any incidents that might have occurred within the last few days. She knew it was a waste of time – that violent incidents involving the shadowy world Mycroft moved in probably went unreported, and certainly Mycroft would never appear on any list of government representatives attending any official event. She turned the computer and television off and sat on the sofa, pulling Toby into her arms and burying her nose in his neck. 

Mycroft couldn’t be _dead._ No, not that. Even Anthea wouldn’t have misrepresented the situation that badly. Molly knew though, she absolutely _knew,_ there was more going on than his business taking more time than expected.

So she waited.

* * * * * * * * 

On Saturday, she did some housework, played with Toby, and waited.

On Sunday, she wandered around her flat; stared at her book and then the television, taking nothing in; and waited.

On Monday morning, she went to work. She came home. She waited.

* * * * * * * * 

Tuesday morning, she went to work. Late that afternoon, Molly left the locker room and trudged tiredly down the long corridor. She pushed open the street door and stood on the pavement staring into space, flinching when the door banged shut behind her. She shifted her bag on her shoulder and turned to go, then froze.

A black car was idling at the curb. Molly felt a trembling start deep inside and slowly spread outward until her hands were shaking. She twisted them together and waited, certain it was Anthea with news. The back door finally opened and the first thing she saw was a black brogue lowering to the pavement and then his head appeared over the door frame. 

She dropped her bag. _“MYCROFT!”_

Molly darted across the pavement and slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and breathing raggedly. After a few moments, she realized he’d said nothing more than, “It’s all right, my dear,” rather breathlessly, while patting her shoulder. She also realized that he’d winced when she grabbed him. Molly dropped her arms and quickly backed away, looking all around them and checking for CCTV cameras. 

“Oh, god – I am so sorry.” She stared at him a moment, taking in the extra paleness of his complexion and the stress lines around his eyes and mouth, then turned away to retrieve her bag from the pavement by the door. When she returned to the car, Mycroft was still standing just as he had been when first getting out of the car, but was now also scanning the area around them. For what, she wondered. “What’s wrong, Mycroft?” Molly hesitantly stepped closer, keeping the car door between them. “Are you injured? Did I … _hurt_ you?”

The corners of his lips briefly turned up. “I’m fine, Molly.” He took a step sideways, but kept his hand on the door frame. “Can you come with me now?” At Molly’s nod, he got back into the car – gingerly, she thought, although she could tell he was trying to hide it.

Molly settled beside him and looked at him uncertainly. She felt ill at ease, unsure what was going on. “Mycroft – “

“I’m sorry about our weekend, my dear,” he said, turning to her and meeting her eyes, but his eyes and expression looked blank.

“Oh for god’s sake, Mycroft, it doesn’t matter about the weekend other than what’s happened to you.” She shifted a bit closer to him. “You’re obviously in pain.” She rested her hand on the seat between them, palm up. Mycroft bit his lip and briefly closed his eyes, but after a few moments he placed his palm against hers and threaded their fingers together. The knot in Molly’s stomach loosened.

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Can it wait until we get to the house?”

Molly squeezed his hand and lay her head against the back of the seat, glancing sideways at him. “All right.”

He sighed, rested his head against the seat back and shut his eyes. They said nothing more during the trip home, nor did they look at each other, but their hands remained clasped. Molly sat up when the car turned through the gate and looked at Mycroft. When the car came to a stop, he met her eyes. Molly pulled her hand away, got out of the car, and stood on the doorstep with her back to him. 

The front door opened and Mrs. Collingwood came out with a big smile on her face. “It’s good to see you, Miss Molly.” Molly returned her greeting and watched her face fall into concerned lines when she turned to her boss. “Welcome home, Mr. Mycroft.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. C,” he said as he stopped beside Molly. “I hope you are well.”

“Thank you, yes,” she replied, stepping aside. “Are there bags?” Molly looked at Mycroft curiously.

“No.” He waved Mrs. Collingwood back inside, then put his hand on Molly’s back. “After you, my dear.”

Once in the house, Mycroft took off his scarf and coat [failing to suppress a pained grunt] and hung them in their places alongside his umbrella, then moved toward the stairs, carrying a briefcase. Behind his back, Molly looked at Mrs. Collingwood, shrugged her shoulders, and followed him upstairs. She trailed after him into his bedroom and across to the dressing room, where she stopped at the door, watching as he sank onto the padded bench, setting the briefcase on the floor beside him. He looked across at her and raised his brows -- not looking, she thought, particularly welcoming -- but she went to stand in front of him anyway and then dropped to her knees and started to untie the laces on one of his shoes.

“Molly –,” he started, irritably.

“Let me help you … please.” She paused, looking up at him until he nodded slightly. She carefully removed his shoes, then pulled off his socks. She took a bare foot in her hands and massaged it slowly but firmly and heard him groan under his breath. She glanced up and met his eyes as she switched to the other foot. “Will you tell me what your injuries are?”

He exhaled noisily. “A couple of cracked ribs, a cut to my thigh. Nothing serious.”

Molly looked at him steadily, brows arched, and he pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Will you let me help you with a shower?”

“Molly –”

“You need the help, Mycroft.” She stood and held out her hands. “Let me help. Please.”

He looked annoyed, but let her help him up. Once he was standing, she unbuttoned his jacket, then stopped, looking at him. “OK?” He nodded again, and Molly carefully removed his jacket and waistcoat, then unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his shirt. She tried to suppress a blush, but couldn’t. Even worse, when she glanced up at Mycroft, his cheeks looked a bit pink as well. Rather than ignore it, she wrinkled her nose at him. “It’s ridiculous to be embarrassed, but you know how ridiculous I can be.” She smiled and his lips turned up briefly at the corners. It wasn’t much of a smile, but better than nothing.

He sucked his stomach in when she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his shirttail out. She removed the shirt as carefully as possible then unzipped his trousers and let them drop, bending to pick them up as he carefully stepped out, leaving him only in pants. Mycroft had not been unaffected by being undressed by Molly, despite his injuries, and she was blushing when she stood back up and met his eyes. Her eyes lowered again involuntarily and she gasped.

“Mycroft!” Molly bent to look at his left thigh, where a long line of stitches closed what had obviously been a bad wound. He flinched when she touched the edges very carefully, feeling for any heat. The wound itself was pink, but didn’t look inflamed. “Did someone give you an antibiotic for this?”

“It’s in my jacket pocket – the inside one.” He replied, and Molly pulled that bottle out, as well as one with pain medicine. “I’ll take the antibiotic, but I don’t need anything for pain.”

There was dark bruising all over his torso, but especially over his left ribs, and both arms had multiple minor cuts on them. She would guess those cuts and the one on his thigh were from flying glass, but couldn’t think what caused the rib injuries. “Mycroft, could you at least tell me if these injuries were targeted at you specifically?”

“I wasn’t the target.” 

Molly set the medicine bottles on a table, then went through the door into the adjoining bathroom. He followed slowly. “Mycroft, I’m sorry if I’m imposing my presence on you, but I _am_ a doctor, after all – even if my patients are normally dead.” She grinned at him, but he didn’t return it. All righty then, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes. She went to the shower and turned on the water, holding her hand under the spray and adjusting the temperature. “Shall I get in with you?”

He glared at her. She knew he was hurting, but he simply raised his hands to push his pants down, then stepped out of them and into the shower. She knew it would be better if she got in to help him, but he didn’t want that, so she turned away and went to get him some pajamas. She hovered around the door, peeking in occasionally to see if he was finished, then went back in when he turned the water off. She grabbed a towel and started to dry him off, but he took it from her, glowering. “Molly –”

“All right,” backing away. He dried his torso, but left his legs wet. Without asking, she took the towel and quickly dried his legs before holding the pajama bottoms for him to step into. She pulled them up, then helped him into a button-up pajama top. She left him to do up the buttons. Molly got his briefcase from the dressing room, picked up the medicine bottles, then went into the bedroom, setting the bottles on the bedside table and laying the case on the bed. She sat beside it, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom and wondering why he’d asked her to come to the house if he was going to be irritated by any assistance she provided. _What had he expected her to do?_

Mycroft combed his hair, then frowned at his reflection, mouth tightening at the sight of his pale face and slumped shoulders. He looked weak. He straightened, grimacing at a sharp pain from his ribs, but leveled his shoulders before leaving the bathroom. He stopped in the doorway, studying Molly, whose own face was pale in sharp contrast to the dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired and off balance. He knew he’d given her mixed signals by asking her to come to the house and then being so ungracious about accepting her help, but – _god,_ he hated needing any help.

Molly stood aside when he walked across to the bed. “Stretching out will be better for your ribs than sitting.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to stay, my dear,” he said, sounding bored. “I’m not going to be up to having sex for a while.” After a few moments of charged silence, he looked up at Molly, who was staring at him with blank eyes.

Molly drew a deep breath. “Congratulations, Mycroft. That remark surpassed even Sherlock at his most cutting.” She turned and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

* * * * * * * * 

Molly hesitated outside the door of “her” bedroom, thought about the things she’d left there, then continued down the hall, sinking onto the top stair and dropping her face into her hands. _What just happened?_

* * * * * * * * 

“Miss Molly?”

Molly looked up at Mrs. Collingwood’s anxious inquiry. She got up and went down the stairs. “How about we have a cup of tea,” she said, patting the housekeeper on the arm, then followed her to the kitchen and sat on a stool at the island while the tea was being made. Molly turned to look out the window, deliberately discouraging conversation. She knew Mrs. Collingwood was still watching her anxiously, but couldn’t bring herself to reassure her. She turned back only when the tea tray was placed on the table. “Please join me, Mrs. C.”

When they’d taken their first sips, Molly replaced her cup in its saucer. “Mycroft has been injured, Mrs. C. I don’t know how it happened – your guess is probably better than mine – but he has a couple of cracked ribs, a lot of bruising on his torso, some relatively minor cuts on his arms, and a bad cut on his left leg that was stitched. I don’t see any sign of infection, but it will need to be monitored.” She sighed. “He has antibiotics to be taken every six hours. He was given pain medicine, but I doubt he’ll take any of it.”

She took a sip of tea, then continued. “I don’t know when he last ate or where he was returning from since he didn’t choose to tell me, and I didn’t choose to ask considering the mood he was in.” Molly’s tone had hardened, and Mrs. Collingwood frowned, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I’m leaving now, but I’ll return if he wants me t-t-to.” Her voice broke, and Mrs. Collingwood reached over to cover Molly’s hand with hers. Molly pulled her hand away after a moment but gave the older woman a smile. “It’s all right, Mrs. C. The real surprise is not that Mycroft is suddenly acting like the Ice Man, but that he ever stopped doing so.”

Molly quickly finished her tea and stood. “Would you please be sure he has some dinner and takes his antibiotic. If he gives you a hard time, I’m sure you know how to deal with him after all these years.” She gave the housekeeper a smile, then turned to leave.

“Miss Molly, please let me call Walter.”

“No, thank you. The tube is just a few blocks away. I’ll be fine.”

Mrs. Collingwood followed her to the front door, twisting her hands. She watched until Molly reached the gate, pushed the remote button to open it for her, then turned away and raised her eyes toward the ceiling, knowing she now had to deal with the _other_ injured party.

* * * * * * * * 

Mycroft looked up at the knock on the bedroom door, then refused to acknowledge feeling any disappointment when Mrs. Collingwood entered, carrying a bed tray. She came to a stop beside him and raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to move his paperwork. When he’d done so, she folded open the legs of the tray and set it carefully across his lap.

“I could get up, Mrs. C,” Mycroft said irritably. “I’m not an invalid.”

“I didn’t think you are, but you’re already settled there, so why move?” She turned away and looked around until she spotted the medicine bottles. “When is your next dose of antibiotic due?”

“I don’t know – 10:00, I think.”

“Well, be sure to take it. I’ll bring you some fresh water closer to the time.” Mycroft grunted, rolling his eyes. “Do you need anything else right now?”

“No,” he said shortly, but looked up at her and finally gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Mrs. C.”

Mrs. Collingwood stopped at the open door, her back to him. “Miss Molly has left. She wouldn’t let me call Walter, but said she’d get the tube.” She closed the door on the silence behind her.

* * * * * * * * 

Two days later, Sherlock burst through the laboratory doors, startling Molly into dropping the pipette she was using. _“Shit!”_ She jumped up, brushing at her labcoat, then glaring at Sherlock. “Couldn’t you give me some warning? Whistle or something?”

“Molly, Molly, Molly …,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Why so irritable? Is associating with dear brother finally getting to you?” He stared, blinking, when Molly whirled and stomped out of the room.

She didn’t return.

* * * * * * * * 

An hour later, Anthea jumped up when the outer office door opened without warning, but Sherlock simply breezed past her and into Mycroft’s office, shutting the door in her face. She opened it just in time to see Sherlock drop sideways into her usual chair, legs draped over the chair arm, then looked at Mycroft apologetically. He flicked a hand at her dismissively, but gave her a quick nod.

“What have you done to my pathologist, brother dear?” Sherlock asked, flippantly, brows raised, after the door closed.

Mycroft steepled his hands under his chin and glowered in response. “What do you want, Sherlock,” he said, stonily.

Half a minute passed during which the brothers stared at each other, then Sherlock sat up abruptly, his gaze narrowed. “What was it you said to me on a recent memorable occasion, dear brother? That I was answering the ‘siren call of old habits’? Is that what’s happened? You’ve thrown your goldfish back into the pond so you can return to the safety of isolation?”

Mycroft stared daggers at Sherlock, mouth tightened in annoyance, at being the subject of his brother’s deductions. “This is none of your business, Sherlock.”

“None of my business? Whatever it is you’ve done to Molly has left her sleep-deprived and unhappy” [he waved his hand, grimacing] “… but, more importantly, she’s avoiding me just when I need her assistance with my latest experiments at the lab –” 

Mycroft suddenly slammed his hands on the desk, then just as quickly sat back, wincing, at the sharp pain in his side. He took a careful breath, then said between gritted teeth, his voice dangerously soft, “Leave this alone, brother mine.”

Sherlock stared at him, head tilted, an arrested look on his face, which slowly changed to one of incredulity. “You’re scared.”

Mycroft rubbed a hand over his face, then looked at his brother and said, evenly, “I don’t have time for this, Sherlock.” 

“You’ve been physically injured … somehow -” [again, he waved his hand] “… and it’s made you more concerned about Molly’s safety.” [Sherlock ignored Mycroft’s scoff.] “And her seeing you injured has caused you to – no, really? You were embarrassed that she saw you in a weakened condition?” [He leaned back, steepling his fingers under his chin.] “Did you seriously fall prey to such a typical male reaction? Good god … is it really that simple - and obvious?”

Before Mycroft could react, Sherlock shot to his feet and leaned over the desk, locking gazes with his brother. “You’ve been an idiot, Mycroft.” He straightened, but continued looming over the desk, so that his brother had to look up at him. “Far be it from me to advocate _sentiment"_ [he grimaced] "in any fashion, but Molly, dear brother, is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” Sherlock strode to the door, then turned, with a swirl of his coat. “And I need my pathologist back on form.”

Mycroft leaned back, staring at the closed door. He picked up his pen, fingers turning it in circles for several seconds, then sighed and placed it carefully on his desk before opening his laptop.

* * * * * * * * 

Two hours later, he was interrupted by Anthea’s soft knock, followed by her entering with a cup of tea, which she placed by his right hand. He thanked her, then turned back to the file he was studying. After several seconds, he looked up at her, eyebrows raised questioningly. “Was there something else?”

“Sir, about that CCTV clip –” She broke off when he frowned and flipped a hand at her dismissively, which, after taking a deep breath, she ignored. “Sir, I think you should see it.”

Mycroft glanced at her, eyes narrowed. “I thought it had been deleted.”

Anthea nodded jerkily, “Yes, it was, but I kept a copy. Sir.”

Mycroft swiveled his chair until he was facing her directly, then said in a soft, even voice. “And who authorized you to do that, my dear?”

Anthea decided she was not going to be intimidated and continued to hold his icy stare while dropping into her chair. “I’m sorry, sir.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then met his gaze again. “I’ve interfered in something that you’ll say is none of my business, but after working for you for so long, I couldn’t just stand by and watch you … um, make a mistake.” 

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, draping his hands over the arms, and repeated in a mild voice. “A mistake?”

Anthea felt her cheeks flush. “I’m going to forward the clip to you and then delete any trace of it elsewhere. What you do with it is your business.” She stood. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

After the door closed behind her, Mycroft rubbed his temple, wondering how so many people had come to think they could interfere in his life.

* * * * * * * * 

A few moments later, an alert signaled the arrival of an email from Anthea. Mycroft hesitated before opening the attachment, then watched the scene outside Bart’s play out. He watched it a second time, then swiveled his chair to face the back wall of his office and leaned his head back. Five minutes later, he sighed and turned back to the screen. He watched the clip once more, pausing it twice, then deleted it. Permanently.

What he could not delete from his brain was the memory of Molly’s face – first being frozen in absolute dread, then a few seconds later being illuminated by utter joy.

He picked up his pen, fingers turning it in circles for several seconds, then tossed it onto his desk.

* * * * * * * * 

After bringing the car to a smooth stop at the curb outside Bart’s, Walter glanced in the rearview mirror, watching as Mycroft stared through the window at the hospital, face tense, a crease between his brows. When his forehead smoothed and he seemed about to move, Walter jumped out and hurried around to open the door. Mycroft looked at him, surprised, but Walter just waited as his boss carefully straightened, lips tight, then stepped onto the pavement. After working for him for so many years, Walter could tell Mycroft was using his umbrella for support but didn’t think it would be obvious to anyone who didn’t know him so well. He waited until his boss disappeared through the door, then returned to the car and drove off.

Mycroft paused inside the hospital door, considering where Molly was likely to be at [checking his pocket watch] 3:30. He went down the corridor and pushed through the lab door, glancing around, then continued to Molly’s office. He tapped on the door three times, then opened it slowly, and met her startled eyes. He saw a stricken look pass over her features before she dropped her eyes to the file she was holding. “I’m glad to see you’re apparently doing better, Mycroft,” she said, then glanced up at him. “But what do you want?”

Mycroft pushed the door shut and leaned against it, resting part of his weight on his umbrella handle. He just stared at her until she looked confused and dropped her eyes again. “What do you want?” Her question was less aggressive the second time.

“You.” He said finally. “I want you.”

Molly swiftly looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted … shocked.

Mycroft sighed. “I’m sorry, Molly.” He straightened, then winced and leaned back against the door, eyes closed. “I’m sorry, but I’m not up to making the sort of grand gesture that I believe would be suitable for this occasion.” He opened his eyes and gave her a brief smile. “Would you be so kind as to come over here?”

Molly continued to stare at him for several moments, then dropped her eyes, swiveled her chair away from him, and swallowed silently, eyes closed. She took a deep breath, then stood, removed her labcoat, and rounded the desk to stand facing him from two feet away. He opened his arms and she gave a gulping cry, then walked into his arms, very carefully settling against him while keeping her weight off of him. He winced just a bit, but closed his arms around her and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Finally, he sighed and raised his head, tilting it to look down at her. “Molly –”

“Can we please not talk about it right now?” She carefully backed away, turned and went around the other side of her desk. He frowned, then smiled when she stooped and came back with a stepstool. She put it on the floor in front of him, climbed up, then braced her hands against the door on either side of his shoulders. “There, no bending for you.”

She leaned forward and he met her halfway, lips touching gently, then pressing more firmly, before pulling back to rest their foreheads against each other. After a moment, Molly said, thoughtfully, “You know, what we’re doing has been referred to as ‘forehead sex’ by some people – usually after watching a period drama on television that had no real sex.” She pulled away, grinning.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed it because _that_ may be the closest we get to real sex for a while,” Mycroft said, wryly. “If you think you – _we_ – can stand the frustration, do you want to stay with me this weekend?”

“I’d like that,” she said, giving him another careful kiss, “but I’ll leave Toby at home. You don’t need him leaping on you and running around your feet.”

They kissed again, more lingeringly, then Molly stepped down and pushed the stepstool out of the way. She waited until Mycroft got himself balanced on his feet again, then followed him out of the office and across the lab. Before they reached the doors, Sherlock pushed through them, stopping to glance from one to the other, then he grinned, smugly. “So, are you ready to help me now, Molly?”

She rolled her eyes at Mycroft. “All right, Sherlock, go get started. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Mycroft’s eyes met Sherlock’s and she saw something pass between them, but Sherlock’s gaze slid away and he stepped around them and farther into the lab before she could figure it out. Molly walked down the corridor alongside Mycroft, pushing the doors open, then waved at Walter through the car window as they left the building. She went ahead of Mycroft to open the door, then leaned in once he was settled and gave him a big smile. “I’ll see you after work tomorrow.”

The warmth of Mycroft’s smile reached his eyes. “Good night, Molly.”

Molly shut the door, then watched the car pull away before heading back to the lab. Walter, glancing at his boss in the rearview mirror, smiled to himself.

* * * * * * * * 

Walter was standing beside the car when Molly came out of Bart’s Friday evening. “Good evening, Miss Molly,” he said, taking her weekend bag and opening the car door for her with a flourish. She returned his greeting with a big grin, then climbed in. Molly had slept well for the first time in a week, Toby was spending the weekend at Mrs. Harrison’s flat, and Molly was hoping for a quiet weekend with Mycroft.

Mrs. Collingwood was already on the front step when the car drew up. She opened the car door, smiling. “Welcome back, Miss Molly.”

Molly got out of the car, with a bounce. “Good evening, Mrs. C! How’s our patient doing?”

“Improving much too slowly for someone of his impatient nature,” she said, giving Molly a side glance as they entered the house, “but he was in a much better mood today for some reason.” Her lips twitched when Molly flushed. “He’s in the study, by the way.”

Molly smiled at her, removed her coat and scarf, then went to find Mycroft. They met at the door to his study, and Molly quickly glanced down the hall at Mrs. Collingwood, who smiled before heading for the kitchen. Molly turned back to Mycroft, put her hands lightly on his chest and lifted as far as she could on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Hello.”

He returned the kiss before letting her lower her heels to the floor. “Hello, yourself.” He stepped back to let Molly come in, then closed the door behind them.

* * * * * * * * 

They spent a quiet evening by the fire in Mycroft’s study. Molly didn’t want to start off the weekend questioning him too much about his ribs – although he did say he was feeling some better when she asked a general question -- so she kicked off her shoes and settled in the chair beside him. From the corner of her eye, she saw him change position more often than usual and knew he was uncomfortable, but she wasn’t going to challenge him on it. She held her breath quietly every so often to listen to him and was relieved that his breathing was easy and without any sign of congestion. She decided that, whatever his reaction, she would check more carefully before they went to bed.

They had a light supper in the kitchen, then went upstairs before 10:00. Molly stopped in her room to brush her teeth and get her night clothes, then joined Mycroft in his dressing room, where he had just started removing his clothes. Molly set her things down, then went to help him off with his shirt. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you going to argue about my helping tonight?” He looked at her, then rolled his eyes. “Why not make it a little easier on yourself while I’m here? Besides, you know I like to get my hands on you.”

He grimaced. “Not much joy in _that_ right now.”

“Oh, how little you know,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his chest. “I enjoy touching you, even when there’s no possibility of it going any further.” She glanced up at him, grinning slyly. “You, however, will be better off if I resist doing so as much as possible.” She reached to help him pull his shirttail free and get his arms out of the sleeves. “Seriously, though … would you like me to wash your back?”

“No, having you in the shower with me tonight – or, rather, _not_ being able to _have_ you in the shower -- would definitely be too frustrating,” he said, with a twist of his lips.

“Then I’m going to my room to get a bath.” She motioned for him to sit on the bench, then dropped down to remove his shoes and socks, before standing again. “Is there anything else I can do?”

He stood, wincing a bit, then unzipped his trousers. “No, go ahead.” Molly left quickly before he bared his legs. The next month or so was going to be very frustrating indeed.

* * * * * * * * 

Mycroft was already in bed when Molly returned. She carefully climbed in beside him, turned off the lamp, and settled on her back a few inches away. He turned his head toward her. “You could get a little closer, you know.”

Molly took his hand. “How about this instead? I don’t want to put any pressure on your ribs or to cause the mattress to dip under them.”

He sighed and turned back to look at the ceiling. “Having your company in bed is good, but –”

“I know. It’s going to be a long month … or six weeks.”

He turned toward her again, frowning. “I wasn’t given a time frame.”

“Did you actually ask? About resuming sex?”

“Well, no.” He sighed. “A month.”

“To six weeks.” She raised up on an elbow to look down at him. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could just make out his expression in the gray light coming in from the not-quite-closed drapes. “The timing depends on how you feel.” She waited until he looked at her again. “But it’s important that you don’t return to too much activity, of any kind, too soon. You could cause a setback in your recovery.” A crease appeared between her eyes. “By the way, did the doctor who treated you tell you to do breathing exercises throughout the day? To breathe as deeply as you can every hour or so? Getting pneumonia or a collapsed lung is a real possibility with cracked or broken ribs.”

Mycroft grimaced. “I don’t have pneumonia.”

“You can get it without knowing. Come on, take some deep breaths now.” She lay on her back again. “I’ll do them with you.”

“I’d much rather be breathing deeply with you for other reasons.”

“Mycroft -,” she said, warningly.

“All right.”

“Breathe in as deeply as you can, slowly, then hold it for a few seconds, before exhaling slowly. You want to expand your lungs.” When they’d taken several deep breaths, Molly sat up, then raised onto her knees and carefully reached across him to brace herself with a hand on the bed. She slowly lowered her head to kiss him without touching him anywhere but his lips. When she raised her head, he turned his lips down in an exaggerated frown. Molly huffed, but kissed him again with a bit more … _oomph._ She pulled back when they both moaned. “OK, that was too much.”

She settled on her back beside him again and reached for his hand. “I’m happy to be here with you, Mycroft.” She turned her head and met his eyes. “It’s enough.”

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Unfortunately, it will _have_ to be for now.” He smiled when Molly laughed.

* * * * * * * * 

The next four weekends passed in a similar fashion, but the frustration for both of them showed itself in little spats that were quickly smoothed over. Toby joined them on the fourth weekend after Mycroft’s injuries were incurred. (Molly still didn’t know how they were incurred, but resolved not to ask.)

* * * * * * * * 

When they got into bed on the fifth Friday after his injuries, Mycroft rolled over and deliberately started something. Molly carefully pushed against his shoulders. “Mycroft, it’s still too soon.”

“You said the timing was based on how I feel, and I feel like making love.”

Molly’s heartbeat seemed to flutter a moment before speeding up. She wondered if he knew what he’d said, then realized he was always deliberate in his wording. She continued to push carefully until he rolled onto his back. “So do I, but this time let me do the major work.” She grabbed the hem of her pajama top and started to pull it over her head, before stopping to look at him. “Are you sure your ribs feel well enough?”

“Just be gentle with me,” he said, deadpan.

Molly laughed and quickly stripped, before getting up on her knees and looking down at him. She reached for his waistband and paused. “Are you ready?” He snorted. “Oops, sorry! I see that you are,” she said, grinning. He lifted his hips enough for her to pull the pajama bottoms down his legs and off his feet before tossing them over her shoulder to join her pajamas on the floor.

Mycroft watched as Molly lifted her left leg and slid over to straddle him, then raised onto her knees, grasping him lightly in her hand, and slowly took him into her. That sight alone was almost enough to make him come. He raised his eyes to hers and watched as she lowered herself to rest lightly against him, breast to chest, her weight mostly supported on her forearms on either side of his head. She kissed him, licking his lips and then slipping between them until he sucked her tongue into his mouth, drawing her into a teasing game that had both of them moaning. She pulled back, breathing heavily, then licked along his jaw and down his throat, before sinking her teeth, gently, into the side of his neck. She released the skin from between her teeth, then lapped at it like a cat, making little gasping noises in between licks. Mycroft caught his breath as he felt Molly’s internal grasp on him tighten and release in a gentle pulsing, then again, and realized she’d come just from kissing him. He took her lower cheeks in his hands and ground their bodies together, coming himself with a long exhale. Molly froze, then abruptly lifted her head to stare at him, rather accusingly he thought. “Did you just come?”

“Yes, and so did you.” He laughed, when she narrowed her eyes, then abruptly widened them. Even in the dim light, he could see her face flush. “You didn’t feel it?”

“I do _now!”_ She said, dropping her hot face against his throat again. “I was more interested in the taste of you.”

Mycroft angled his head until he could kiss Molly’s cheek. “You’ll have to pay more attention this time.” He felt her tense as she indeed paid more attention to what was going on with their nether regions. 

She raised up on her forearms and stared at him. “I don’t know whether to be amazed or appalled that I could have –“

“Let’s go with ‘amazed’ … now, come on -- amaze me again.”


	13. I Need You To Give This Matter Your Full Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A turning point comes when Molly takes a chance.

“You’re Jamie.”

“No, I’m Nina. _You’re_ Jamie.” Molly turned back to the keyboard and raised her hands, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry, Mycroft. You don’t have to act like Alan Rickman’s character … you just need to play the piece.”

Behind her back, Mycroft mirrored her eye roll, but picked up his bow and settled the cello more securely between his knees.

_Bach. Sonata No. 3 (g minor). Adagio._

The beauty of the music being brought to life through their duet, combined with the images playing across her mind from the scene they were recreating, brought tears to Molly’s eyes, and one fell when she glanced over her shoulder at Mycroft. His expression was so serious, so focused … head tilted, eyes lowered, watching his long, sinewy fingers dexterously move from string to string against the fingerboard, while his other hand drew the bow so slowly across the strings. Their deep, warm, melodic vibrations caused a quiver to run through Molly’s core. Mycroft’s gaze flicked to hers from under his brows, and Molly’s breath caught. Her fingers broke off mid-phrase and she quickly moved to stand over him, breathing deeply, watching his strong fingers flex on the neck of the instrument as the deep sounds he drew out of it continued to tug at her internally. “Oh, god,” she moaned, “that’s enough for now. Please stop.”

Molly held her hand out and Mycroft gave her the bow, which she put on a nearby table as he turned aside to place the cello on its stand. He turned back to her, and the next moment they were in each other’s arms, his fingers playing over the bare skin of her lower back, hers clutching at the soft linen of his shirt. As Mycroft shifted them toward one of the sofas, Molly tore her lips away, panting. “Not here!” She twisted her head from side to side. “Your parents sat there.”

“Dear lord – don’t remind me,” he muttered, breaking off from kissing her neck. He abruptly pivoted and towed Molly behind him, out of the music room and up the stairs, not pausing until they were in his bedroom. She moaned as he pressed her back against the closed door, his lips again at her throat, his warm hands sliding down her back. She hooked a knee around him, and his fingers curved under her backside, lifting and tilting her hips as his thigh pressed higher between hers. Molly gasped as Mycroft dragged his lips down her throat and rested his forehead against the skin bared by the V-neck of her jumper, breathing heavily against her breasts. 

Molly’s nipples tightened and she suddenly felt constricted by her bra, by her clothes. She pulled her hands from underneath Mycroft’s shirt and pushed against his shoulders. “The bed!” They stumbled across the room and fell onto it, pulling and tugging at each other’s clothing, then both exhaled loudly in relief as he finally thrust firmly into her.

Truly. Madly. Deeply.

* * * * * * * * 

Nine weeks had passed since Mycroft was injured, and things were back to normal, or as normal as life ever got for Mycroft and Molly.

Molly stayed at Mycroft’s house from Friday evening through Sunday evening. The rest of the week they were mostly out of contact other than an occasional call to confirm an arrangement or a text conversation usually initiated by Molly – and, of course, Mycroft or Anthea or some other security staff kept an electronic eye on Molly whenever she was on the go somewhere. (She had lost the initial sense of intrusion at knowing she was a focus of CCTV monitoring and instead felt cared for as she moved around the city.)

Molly wouldn’t say their weekends had fallen into a rut, but a pattern had emerged. Walks in the park, weather permitting. Workouts in the gym. Hours in the music room, Molly alone on the piano or occasionally the two of them playing together. They read in companionable silence in the study, in the sitting room. They ate together in the dining room, in the kitchen. They slept together in Mycroft’s big bed and sometimes fell asleep together at opposite ends of the sitting room sofa, legs tangled, when their books didn’t keep their attention or when they had missed too much sleep the previous night from spending too much time _not_ sleeping. They sometimes bathed together -- more often in the shower, but occasionally returned to the tub – when getting clean wasn’t the primary focus for the endeavor. They danced on those rare times when Molly could talk Mycroft into it, one way or another.

And they had sex … sleepy early-morning sex, drawn out late-night sex, playful sex, no-time-for-it-but-OK-if-it’s-a-quickie sex, this-one’s-just-for-you sex, frantic sex, being-petted-while-asleep-then-awoken-fully-aroused sex, cuddly afternoon sex, barely-averting-a-disastrous-slip-in-the-shower sex, let's-try-something-new sex, oh-so-gently sex, no-not-on-my-desk-well-fine-then sex.

Molly-kicked-the-lamp-and-broke-it sex ... but just that once. 

_Lots_ of sex. 

Their arrangement – _relationship_ – was completely satisfactory to them both. Well, Molly thought, _mostly_ satisfactory. She was happy when she was with Mycroft and had certainly never been so sexually satisfied in her life.

_But._

Over those four days in February when Molly had waited to hear from Mycroft and feared the worst, two truths revealed themselves and those feelings had only strengthened in the following months. On the nights she stayed at her flat, Molly spent hours considering what to do about them, if anything. Was it worth risking the relationship they currently had for the possibility of having more? 

* * * * * * * * 

By the morning of the third Friday in April, Molly had made certain arrangements with Mike Stamford and with Mrs. Harrison. Anthea had been the only one who came close to balking at Molly’s request, but she’d eventually agreed to help.

Mycroft and Molly had a wonderful weekend, including a long walk on Saturday afternoon, enjoying the unusually warm spring weather. He’d had to spend several hours working, but was able to handle it by phone and computer.

Mid-afternoon Sunday, Molly initiated a rather vigorous bout of lovemaking that left them both sweaty and wrung out. They eventually roused enough to take (separate) showers and make it downstairs in time for the substantial tea that Mrs. Collingwood was setting out in the dining room. 

Molly left as usual about 6:00. An hour later, Mycroft got a call from Anthea that resulted in Walter picking him up and leaving him at a safe house some miles away.

* * * * * * * * 

_“Molly?”_ Mycroft scanned the room. “What are you doing here?”

Molly stood as he walked into the large dining room. “I’m sorry for resorting to a version of your kidnapping technique, but I needed to talk to you away from our homes and work, and Anthea agreed to help.” She pulled out the chair at the head of the long table and returned to hers at the opposite end. “Please sit.”

Molly was sorry to see Mycroft’s face fall into the neutral mask he so rarely showed her any more. She waited as he settled into the chair and then looked at her, eyes expressionless. “Three things: First, please do not respond to anything I say. Any questions I might ask will be rhetorical. Second, please listen. Just pay attention but try not to react immediately. Third, please let me go when I’m finished.” She sighed, then continued. “Also, I’ve been nervous about this so if any of what I say seems rehearsed, it’s because I’ve thought about it so much.”

Molly took a deep breath. “Mycroft –” She paused to clear her throat, then began tentatively. “Mycroft, when you were injured …” She paused again, then continued more firmly. “Those days of waiting, when I knew in my core that you were in trouble but I didn’t actually _know_ any facts, were absolutely awful. That’s an understatement a-a-actually.” She stopped, swallowing. “I know what you think about caring, but I _do_ – care for you … deeply. I began caring for you almost two years ago now and it’s only strengthened over these last ten months. But –” [she took a deep breath, lowering her eyes to her hands, which were twisted together on the tabletop] “… but when faced with that uncertainty about what was happening, I realized just how much I –” [she cleared her throat] “… how much I love you. I _love_ you, Mycroft Holmes. I love you and I’m not willing to hide it from you anymore.”

She quickly glanced up at Mycroft, only to find him studying his own hands, which were resting, clasped, on the tabletop. “I will likely tell you that on a regular basis. If hearing me say ‘I love you’ is going to put you off, I need to know. But not today,” she added hastily. 

“So that’s one thing. The other matter is more of a line of inquiry. I expect your initial, and possibly final, reaction will be a solid negative, but please hear me out and give the matter some serious thought.” 

Molly sat silently for a few moments, head down. She could feel Mycroft’s eyes on her, but did not look up. Finally, she let out a long breath and went on. “During those long days of waiting to hear from or about you, one thought that preyed on my mind was how wrong it would be for – oh, _god!_ I know you’re going to be appalled, but remember that this is simply a request for you to consider the notion of something – it’s not some sort of ultimatum.”

She took another deep breath and hoped she wouldn’t hyperventilate before she was through. “Mycroft, I cannot _bear_ the idea that your bloodline will not be continued – that there won’t be a mini-Mycroft coming after you. It’s not that I’m broody or have always had a dream of being someone’s mother. These feelings are entirely focused on _you_ and come solely from my desire for you. If you were agreeable, I would really love to have your baby. _Our_ baby. Sometime, and assuming I'm able. But it would have to be something you wanted. There will not be an accidental pregnancy to force the issue.” Molly glanced up at him and observed, in a brisker tone of voice. “By the way, if our relationship is going to continue, we should go back to using condoms all the time since the pill isn’t 100% effective.”

She swallowed to ease a dry throat, then continued. “Mycroft, I have assumed you’ve never wanted a child. If that is truly the case and you do not want to consider differently, I will accept your position. I won’t try to sway you after this, but know this: I would absolutely _relish_ carrying part of you inside of me for those nine months and experiencing everything good and bad that goes with pregnancy. I would love any child of ours unconditionally and forever. I would not expect you to become a different kind of man. That would be unnecessary anyway because I think you’d be a good father exactly the way you are. A child doesn’t have to have a sentimental, touchy-feely, full-time, hands-on father to know he or she is loved.” 

She thought for a few moments, trying to remember what other points she had wanted to make. “Your life wouldn’t have to change that much. It could simply be that, instead of just having Toby following you around on the weekends, there’d be a little human wanting to sit on your lap and be scratched behind the ear.” She laughed, but stopped abruptly and sighed. “There’d obviously have to be some adjustments on the weekends, but the child would be with me the rest of the time and my happy responsibility.”

“Well.” Molly stood. “I wish I were more eloquent, but you get the gist.” Mycroft watched as she came around the table and stopped beside him, then tensed when she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m leaving now. If this hasn’t affected your willingness to continue our relationship, I’ll see you the Friday after next. I’m going out of town for two weeks, but my phone will be on. If you really need to get in touch, please don’t call me. Send a text.”

He took a breath and started to stand. Molly put a staying hand on his shoulder. “Wait until I’m gone.” Mycroft stood anyway and took her hand. She looked up at him, tugging on it. “Let me go, Mycroft. Please.”

He hesitated, then stepped back. Molly turned away, grabbed her handbag and left. Once on the pavement, she hailed a taxi, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the front door was still closed. Back at her flat, she delivered Toby, along with a supply of his food and a few of his favorite toys, to Mrs. Harrison. She walked around the flat, making sure everything was turned off that needed to be, then picked up her suitcase and left. A taxi dropped her at Euston Station, where she was taking the Caledonian Sleeper to Edinburgh. Once she was allowed to board, she made her way to her berth, sat on the lower bed, and finally took a deep breath, wiping her eyes.

_Oh, Mycroft._


	14. It Is Just Possible That You Won't Be Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft in London, Molly in Edinburgh, and definitely _not_ thinking about each other ...

By noon on Monday, Mycroft knew Molly had gone to Edinburgh. By the end of the day, he knew where she was staying and for how long she’d booked.

He ignored the looks of anticipation that Anthea bestowed on him each time she came into his office. Whatever Anthea seemed to imagine, Mycroft was _not_ going after Molly. She’d made herself quite clear about wanting to be alone.

* * * * * * * * 

Leaving his study late Monday night, Mycroft stopped in the doorway, looking at the staircase for several moments before turning left toward the dark end of the hallway. He opened the last door and paused on the threshold before reaching to flip on a light.

The little sitting room had been his grandmother’s retreat where she would read by the fire, write her correspondence at the desk, and do needlework. Mycroft remembered sitting with her for afternoon tea, the housekeeper placing a large tray before them that would always include a tempting range of sweet delights. Often his grandfather would come down the hall from the study, first standing at the door, checking his pocket watch, grumbling about the interruption to his work, before crossing the room to join them on the sofa. Grandpa would grumble some more when Grandma laughed at him, bustling about, filling their cups and loading their plates. When they’d finished, his grandfather would ruffle Mycroft’s hair and tell his wife to keep the rascal from getting into more mischief.

His grandfather never entered the room again after his grandmother died. 

When Mycroft inherited the house, he’d gone to his grandmother’s retreat, but was overwhelmed by childhood memories and closed the door. In the years since, the room was kept tidy, but the door remained shut. 

For a moment, Mycroft thought he could still smell the soft scent of his grandmother’s face powder. _Sentiment._ He closed the door and headed upstairs. 

Caring was _not_ an advantage.

* * * * * * * * 

_Tuesday afternoon_

Molly leaned over, bracing her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. She let her backpack slide off her shoulder and dug around in it for a bottle of water. She tilted her head back, taking a long guzzle, eyes on the magnificent view of the Castle, backlit by bright sunlight. Perfect weather meant that not only was the entirety of Edinburgh’s skyline on view – the Royal Mile, New Town, Old Town – but so was the Firth of Forth with just a turn of her head. She turned in a full circle, eyes closed, the wind whipping her hair, and laughed from the pleasure of it. 

She looked down the path she’d hiked up Arthur’s Seat, coming up the east side from Dunsapie Loch. The climb had been as relatively easy as her B&B landlady told her it would be. She finished the water, stuck the empty bottle in the backpack, and moved farther off the path before dropping onto the grassy slope and stretching out in the late afternoon sun. 

Molly lay there for about fifteen minutes, tired but completely relaxed. She could hear bits of indistinct conversations coming from different directions, and several times people called greetings to her as they passed on the trail just below. She finally sat up, stretching her arms overhead, then got up and slung the backpack over her shoulders. 

By the time she returned to the B&B and got a shower, she had just enough energy to eat a light supper before returning to her room and falling across the bed. She was asleep by 9:30 p.m., pleasantly exhausted and with no time to think.

* * * * * * * * 

_Wednesday morning_

Mycroft was sitting at the kitchen island, sipping his tea and watching Mrs. Collingwood prepare his breakfast. He thanked her as she set a plate before him, adding, “By the way, Molly won’t be here this weekend.”

The housekeeper turned from the sink, frowning. “That’s too bad, Mr. Mycroft. She’s well, I hope?”

“Just out of town,” he said, face and voice expressionless.

* * * * * * * * 

_Thursday_

Molly spent the morning wandering around the Castle, indoors and out, occasionally having to take refuge within the fortress from brief rain showers. She enjoyed the added drama and gloom those rainy periods gave to the battered stone walls, but was happy that the weather cleared by the time she was ready to leave. She headed downhill from the Castle grounds, treading carefully on damp cobblestones, dodging tourists who were on their way _up_ the hill, and occasionally stopping to look in shop windows. She eventually chose a pub off Grassmarket Square, sitting at a table along the front windows. She spent the next hour or so watching people pass by as she ate her solitary lunch and most definitely did _not_ think about anything or anyone in London – or if anyone in London might be thinking about _her._

* * * * * * * * 

_Friday evening, London_

As Walter drove off, Mycroft shut the front door and leaned against it for a few moments, listening to the quiet house. Sighing, he straightened, hooked his umbrella in its usual place, then took a stronger grip on his briefcase and walked down the hall to his study.

_Friday night, Edinburgh_

Molly turned over yet again, trying to find a comfortable spot. She reached for the extra pillow and clutched it against her breasts. _Oh Mycroft._

* * * * * * * * 

_Saturday afternoon_

Mrs. Collingwood was returning to the kitchen from the sitting room when she heard footsteps and glanced up the stairwell in time to see Mycroft step onto the first floor landing from the upper floor. He hesitated on seeing her, then came down the rest of the stairs. In response to her curious look, he said, “I was looking at the attic. There’s certainly a lot of old furniture up there.”

“Should I get a cleaning crew in?”

“At some point, maybe,” he said, “after I’ve had time to go through some things.” 

* * * * * * * * 

_Late Sunday morning_

Mycroft was in the study, scanning the newspapers, when he heard the front door open. “Do come in, little brother,” he called, mildly.

Sherlock came briskly through the study door, full of nervous energy. “The little woman still in bed, then?”

Mycroft sat up, folded the paper very deliberately, then demanded, sharply. “What do you want, Sherlock?” 

His brother stopped before the desk, staring at him, unruffled. “Oh god - what have you done to Molly now?” He sighed dramatically, perching a hip on the desk and swinging his leg. “I thought we fixed this already.”

Mycroft stood. “Why are you here, Sherlock – don’t you have a case” [eye roll] “to solve?”

“Molly wasn’t at Bart’s yesterday, and one of the lab rats said she was off for a couple of weeks,” he said, grumpily. “Molly _never_ takes her holidays. What’s going on –”

“- is Molly’s business, not yours.” Mycroft rounded his desk and dropped into one of the wingchairs. “If that’s all you wanted –”

Sherlock followed him, slumping into the other chair and crossing his legs, body angled toward his brother. “What’s going on, Mycroft ... is Molly all right?”

“As far as I know,” Mycroft answered airily, studying the nails of his left hand. He glanced at his brother when the silence went on too long, then sighed. “Molly went to Edinburgh. She’ll be back on Friday.”

“Edinburgh,” Sherlock echoed. “What the _hell_ is she doing there?”

“Sightseeing, one assumes,” Mycroft snapped, irritably. 

Sherlock tilted his head, studying his brother more closely. Some undercurrent of emotion passed over Mycroft’s face before it returned to his usual impassive mask. Sherlock’s brows lifted, then his eyes widened with undisguised amusement. “She’s given you some sort of ultimatum.”

Mycroft flinched and pressed his lips together into a thin line before giving Sherlock a brief withering look. “No, she hasn’t,” he said stonily, looking away, then let out a long breath. He was horrified to hear himself continue, “She said she loves me.”

Silence again. 

Mycroft glanced sideways at his brother, then dropped his eyes. Sherlock was staring at him curiously, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Oh for god’s sake, Mycroft,” he finally said, “That couldn’t have surprised you.” When Mycroft didn’t answer, Sherlock sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them, looking steadily at his brother. After a few moments, he snorted. “And John thinks _I’m_ clueless about human emotions.” 

After a few more moments, Sherlock sighed, dropping his head to stare at the floor. “You’ve seemed … content the last few months. Would it really be so bad to …” 

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, incredulously. “Are you actually attempting to advise me about” [grimacing] “love?”

“It appears so” [gloomily].

“Dear lord.”

They both slumped back in their chairs, wearing matching glum expressions and looking very much like the brothers they were. Sherlock recovered first. _“That_ was tedious.”

“Ghastly.”

“Never again.”

 _“Never.”_ Mycroft agreed, fervently. After a few moments, he sighed. “Mrs. C is making a roast. Hungry?”

“Nope.” Silence. “Maybe.”

* * * * * * * * 

_Tuesday morning, Edinburgh_

Molly had planned another hike for that morning, and the weather was ideal. Instead, she’d returned to her room after breakfast and was still lying on the bed at 11:30, staring at the ceiling. 

_Tuesday afternoon, London_

“Sir?”

“We need to look at my diary.”

* * * * * * * * 

_Wednesday_

Molly came through the B&B’s front door mid-afternoon and turned into the front sitting room/reception area. She stopped abruptly, seeing that the landlady was talking to another guest. Molly started to turn away, then hesitated, staring at the duffle bag on the floor and then running her eyes up the man’s jeans, over his navy jacket, and then focusing on the nape of his neck.

_“Mycroft?”_

He turned to her, face serious, then gave her a tentative smile. She dropped her shopping bags and met him halfway across the room. She didn’t care if Mrs. McDonald was watching – and apparently neither did Mycroft since he wrapped his arms around her and straightened, lifting her off her feet. When they pulled back to catch their breath, he whispered, “Sorry to barge in on your holiday –”

“Noodlehead,” she whispered, before kissing him again.

He drew back. “Noodlehead?”

“Mmm, something I heard at lunch today. It seemed to fit.” Molly gave him another quick kiss, then slid down his body when he loosened his grip. She peeked around him, blushing when she met Mrs. McDonald’s eyes. “This is my …”

The landlady helped her out, eyes twinkling. “Yes, he introduced himself.” She smiled kindly at them. “Would the two of you like some tea?”

Molly glanced at Mycroft, then said. “Um, that’s kind of you, but I need to, um, talk to Mycroft about, um …” Mycroft, who had kept his back turned to Mrs. McDonald to spare her blushes, rolled his eyes.

“All right, dear. I’ll be happy to make some for you later if you like.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McDonald. We’ll let you know.” She poked Mycroft in the side and he quickly echoed her thanks over his shoulder before stooping to grab his duffle. Molly picked up her shopping bags and led the way up the stairs and down the hall to the door of her room. “It’s just a single,” she said, looking up at him apologetically.

“And that’s a problem because …?”

Molly blushed, but grinned as she let them in. Mycroft dropped his duffle, removed his jacket and toed off his shoes while Molly did the same. They stood there for a moment, looking at the bed.

“I hope the bedsprings don’t squeak,” he said thoughtfully, then swept her off her feet and onto the bed, causing her to squeal.

* * * * * * * * 

They didn’t squeak – or not too badly – but the rhythmic thump of the headboard against the wall was unmistakable. Molly would have been mortified if she’d been paying any attention.

Downstairs, Mrs. McDonald raised her brows, then smiled, thinking fondly about the late Mr. McDonald. She went through to the kitchen and shut the door, thankful that the few other guests were out for the afternoon.

* * * * * * * * 

Much later, Molly lifted her cheek from Mycroft’s sweaty chest, listening carefully. “I think my next door neighbors are back.” She sighed, gave his chest a smacking kiss, then rolled over. A few minutes later, she turned her head to look at him. “Mycroft …” He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “Why did you come all this way when I’m leaving here tomorrow?”

He turned to study a tiny crack in the ceiling, folding an arm under his head. “I thought you might like company on the return journey.” When Molly didn’t say anything, he looked back at her. “And we don’t have to leave tomorrow. Mrs. McDonald has a double room available until Friday … if you’d like to stay over an extra night.”

“What about my train reservation?”

“Does that matter? I have alternative transportation ready whenever we are.”

She sat up and twisted to look down at him. “But what about your work?”

He raised his free hand and slid it slowly from her nape to the dimples below her waist. “I cleared my diary.”

Molly slid her feet up, wrapped her arms around her knees, and dropped her face against her forearms. Voice muffled, she asked, "Why would you do that?”

The ensuing silence felt uncomfortable, and Molly slowly tensed until she was gripping her knees with all her strength. Mycroft slid his hand back up her spine, around the side of her neck and gently tugged until she moved back over him. Once they were stretched out breast to chest, he unfolded his other arm from under his head and cupped her face in both hands. 

“Because I love you.”

Molly promptly forgot about the neighbors.

Mycroft, ever aware of his surroundings (and believing it appropriate for the moment anyway), made love to a tearful Molly with such deliberate and gentle thoroughness that maximum mutual satisfaction was reached ... with minimal squeaking and _no_ thumping.


	15. He Doesn't Necessarily Have To Be Isolated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Molly, still abed after his declaration ... and what happened during the first two days following it

Molly woke with a snort, her nose pressed too closely against Mycroft’s side, and turned her head toward cooler air, drawing a deep breath and blinking in confusion. The room was dim with shadows but early evening sunlight coming through the window made a crisscross pattern on the far wall. She felt like she’d been drugged, not sure what day or time it was.

She deliberately relaxed, not wanting to wake Mycroft, but almost jolted when her brain finally caught up with the rest of her. She turned her head as slowly as possible until she could peek over his rib cage. His face was completely relaxed, lips slightly parted, breathing even, and she was suddenly flooded with emotions … with all the love she’d wanted to show him for so many months, but also with tenderness for him in his unguarded state and a great desire to _protect_ him – and wouldn’t he laugh at _that._

This Mycroft was _hers._

And he _loved_ her.

Molly carefully eased to her previous position. She thought back to that last meeting in a tea shop all those months ago, when her first glimpse of Mycroft looking so perfectly at ease with his power, isolation and sophistication had almost caused her to run away. And then her shocked disbelief two weeks later when he’d left her flat … realizing they’d be having sex and exposing themselves to each other in more ways than being naked. 

How could he love her? Had she somehow _forced_ him to say it? She knew he got pleasure from their physical relationship – she was in fact still amazed at how enthusiastically he pursued _that_ – and she also thought he actually enjoyed how she teased him, perhaps as an antidote to all those who treated him as the Ice Man. When she thought –

“You’re giving me a headache,” Mycroft said, rubbing his fingers over the crown of her head. “I can hear the mental wheels turning.” She looked up to meet his eyes. “What are you thinking about?” Molly tried not to blush, but failed. “Ah,” he said, reaching for his phone to check the time. “We probably need to get up.” He looked down at her again. “Don’t you want to move to the bigger room tonight?”

“Whatever you want,” she said, kissing his side. “I like it here, too.”

“The other room has an ensuite.”

Molly sat up. “Well, that settles it.” She noticed the duffle bag and looked at him over her shoulder, brows raised. “Where did you get that bag and what in the world did you bring in it? No suits obviously.”

“I’ll have you know that bag has been around the world a number of times.” When she kept her brows raised, he added. “Legwork.”

“And what did you bring?”

“What I thought would suit your preferred activities.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “So just hiking stuff and no pajamas?”

“That would be about it.”

She crawled over him and rested her folded arms on his chest. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Mycroft Holmes?”

He frowned. “I can adapt.”

Molly snorted. “I’m sure you can.” Frowning, she continued, “But I never wanted to make you miserable.”

Mycroft looked surprised. “Do I appear to be miserable?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “You _never_ look miserable when we’re in bed.” 

“Ah.” He pursed his lips. “There is that.” He slid his hands down her back and cupped her backside, then gave her a pat. “We need to get up.” She stared at him without moving. “What is it, my dear?”

She flushed, resting her forehead on her arms. “Would you tell me again?”

He ran his hands up her sides, curved them under her arms and pulled her higher until they were face to face. He waited until she opened her eyes, then ran a finger down her cheek. “I love you, Molly.”

Molly felt like her smile was going to split her face. “And I love you.” She kissed him briskly, then pushed herself into a sitting position and climbed off of him. While he yawned noisily and stretched his arms overhead, she shrugged into her dressing gown, shaking her head as she crossed the hall and closed the bathroom door. 

Mycroft Holmes. In a single bed, in a no-star B&B with the facilities across the hall, and he wasn’t complaining. Who’d have thought?

* * * * * * * * 

Mrs. McDonald was on the phone when they reached the reception desk. Molly wandered off to look at the sunset out the front window, letting Mycroft deal with the room change and giving her a chance to avoid the landlady’s eyes. An hour after the fact, she’d vaguely recalled hearing the headboard noises and was indeed mortified. 

When Mrs. McDonald came around the desk with the key, they followed her up the stairs and down the hall toward the back of the house. Their new room was a good bit larger and did have a double bed and a bathroom with a small shower. After the landlady left, Mycroft led the way back to the other room and waited while Molly stuffed her toiletries and odds and ends in her bag. She stripped the bed, rolling the sheets into a tight ball, and then glanced at Mycroft, who was watching her, hands on his hips. “What?” 

He came to help her smooth the duvet over the bed. “Nothing.” 

They looked around for any missed items, then Mycroft picked up his duffle and her bag, leaving Molly to carry the backpack. After dropping everything in the other room, they headed downstairs.

* * * * * * * * 

Mrs. McDonald told them supper would be ready in about fifteen minutes, so they wandered into the back garden and sat on a bench, looking at the fading sunset.

“The weather has been incredible,” Molly said, turning to him. “If it’s clear tomorrow, would you be interested in walking up Arthur’s Seat? I went last week and the climb wasn’t difficult, and the view is definitely worth it.” He looked at her, and she continued, “Well, if you like that sort of thing.”

“If that’s what you’d like to do, it’s fine with me.” Molly raised her brows. “It’s the last day of your holiday, Molly. I don’t mind falling in with your plans.”

Molly sighed. “Mycroft, don’t go overboard trying to make me happy, if that’s what you’re doing.” She wrinkled her nose, then grinned. “I’m happy with the Mycroft I’ve known all this time … and _love._ You don’t have to change.”

“You ask too little.”

“That's not true.”

He looked at his watch. “We better go in.”

“Mycroft …” He turned back to her. “Do you know how incredibly sexy you look wearing a wristwatch?”

“What?” The tips of his ears turned pink.

“Yep … almost as sexy as you look with your pocket watch.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him behind her until he caught up and slung his arm around her shoulders. She glanced up at him and mirrored his smile. 

* * * * * * * * 

The double bed was definitely roomier and, thankfully, _quieter._

* * * * * * * * 

“There. Wasn’t that worth the climb?”

Mycroft lowered his water bottle. “If one wanted to see Edinburgh in its entirety,” he met her eyes, then continued, “which I did, of course.”

She grinned. “How are your ribs doing?”

“Fine.” [Sternly]

“OK.” Molly spun in a circle, arms held out, ponytail whipping around her face.

“What are you doing?”

She kept turning. “Appreciating the day.” She came to a stop in front of him and slid her arms around his waist. “Appreciating being with you.” She pulled back. “May I temporarily take back my wish that you won’t try too hard to make me happy?”

Mycroft took another swallow of water above her head, then capped his bottle. “What do you want?”

“No need to sound so suspicious.” She pulled out her phone. “A photo of us.”

“Molly –”

“C’mon. You can hide your face. I’ll know it’s you and Sherlock will know it’s you, which is the point. Let’s send him a photo that will make him gag.”

“Molly –”

“Come on.” She moved in close to him. “Bend your knees.” She held her phone up, put her head on the center of his chest and tilted her face to the side. “Now you act like you’re kissing my ear and all that will show is your forehead.” He did suddenly kiss her ear and pulled back to grin at her. She laughed up at him just as a gust of wind tossed her ponytail in the air. She quickly snapped the shot.

Mycroft frowned at the click, but after they studied the result, he admitted only those who knew him best – and that he was with Molly -- would recognize him, plus her flying hair was partially blocking his face. What was visible of a grinning Mycroft in profile looked very little like the Ice Man in profile. It was also a bit blurred. Molly liked it so he didn’t protest any further.

They sat on the grassy slope while Molly sent the text to Sherlock.

\- _Glad you aren’t here! See you soon! Big Bro + MH xxx_

She also sent one to Anthea.

\- _Thank you A … but glad you aren’t here! (Himself doesn’t know I’m sending this.) MH_

Molly figured she owed it to the PA.

They then headed down the trail, Mycroft in the lead in case Molly got going too fast. She enjoyed the view of his rear end. The Ice Man … in well-fitting jeans. _Yowza._ He turned once, caught her obviously checking him out, and frowned. What she didn’t see was his grin when he turned back around.

Mycroft was finding the hike unexpectedly … agreeable, if only because Molly was getting so much enjoyment from it. He was also pleasantly surprised by how easy the climb had been. He'd known he was getting a bit soft the last couple of years since the general decrease in his activity level. Although his physical exertion had increased significantly with the advent of Molly into his life, it was gratifying to have proof of his improved stamina and fitness. Not bad for a middle-aged man who’d given up legwork … for the most part.

* * * * * * * * 

_“Mycroft!_ The shower’s too small for this.” Molly’s back was mashed to his front as his hands massaged her breasts and he nibbled down the side of her neck to her shoulder. “There’s no room for me to bend over.” One of his hands slid down her stomach and curved between her legs. “Oooh,” she moaned, panting. “If we run out of hot water, I’ll scream and it won’t be from pleasure,” she warned, before moaning again as his middle finger probed more firmly. She reached backwards to wiggle her hand between their bodies and instead hit her elbow against the tap. “Oh god, this shower was not intended for two.”

Molly twisted around to face him and raised her knee as Mycroft slid a hand down the back of her thigh. When he cupped her backside and lifted her, she grabbed the top of the metal shower frame and pulled her other knee up. They paused and she let out a long breath. “This is ridiculous. One or both of us will end up straining something important.” Her lips quirked. “I know you hate to admit defeat.” He snorted, but let her slide down and turned off the water before stepping out of the shower. She followed him and they briskly dried off. As Molly turned to leave, Mycroft slid an arm around her middle and pulled her back against him, cupping her breast with his other hand and rubbing his thumb over her nipple. She inhaled with a gasp, twisting to face him, then backed up until the wall stopped her and pulled his mouth down to hers. When he lifted her, Molly wrapped one arm around his neck, clamped her knees on either side of his waist, and reached between them with her other hand to hold him in position as he bent his knees and pushed up into her. 

Mycroft pulled her thighs higher along his sides as he began to move, causing their point of joining to serve as a partial support for the weight of her body … so each dragging push and pull caused maximum friction for both of them in just the right places. Molly grasped his shoulders more firmly with both hands, fingertips digging into his back, as Mycroft’s thrusts intensified. Moments later, Molly called out, her body tightening around him, squeezing and releasing, and he followed her over the edge with a sharp lunge upwards. They stayed wrapped around each other, with Mycroft leaning against her, chest heaving, thigh muscles trembling.

Once some strength returned to his legs, Mycroft straightened, hiked Molly higher and carried her into the bedroom, where they collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

* * * * * * * * 

After breakfast Friday, they returned to their room and Molly crawled onto the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard. “I haven’t asked about our travel plans, but how and when are we leaving?”

Mycroft was sitting in the chair, legs crossed, as he checked his phone. “By plane -- and more or less whenever you want.” 

“Mycroft,” she said, mildly, “would you please explain that.”

He looked up. “Private plane.”

“Oh … of course.” She rolled her eyes, teasingly, but her stomach clenched. From the time they started meeting for tea until the present day, Molly had done her best to disregard the difference in their financial status, and Mycroft never knowingly did anything to call attention to it. “So we just show up …?”

“No, I should let the crew know at least an hour before we want to leave.” Mycroft put his phone away. “What would you like to do this morning?”

“If it’s up to me, I’d like to head for home.” 

“All right, if that’s what you want.”

Molly stared at him, her eyes narrowed. “Once we’re back in London, I really don’t want you to keep acting like this.” Her eyes widened in alarm. “What if this easy-going version of you starts rubbing off on ‘work Mycroft’?”

“Molly, I told you this is your holiday, and I’ve simply tried to adapt to that.”

She wasn’t listening. “You’ve worn jeans for three days. You hiked up a hill. You ate at a dining table with strange people in a no-star hotel. You used a communal bathroom.” She was getting worked up. “For god’s sake, you let me take a selfie!”

Mycroft sat on the bed and put his arm around her. “I can assure you that those who had cause, or thought they had cause, to fear me before will continue to do so. My cold-hearted reputation will remain intact.”

* * * * * * * * 

As she turned from thanking Mrs. McDonald, Molly was unsurprised to see a duplicate of Mycroft’s London car pull to a stop in front of the B&B. The driver greeted Mycroft by name as he came around to open the boot and take their bags. 

Once they settled in the back seat, Mycroft took Molly’s hand. “All right?” She nodded, smiling, then turned to look at the passing scenery. She told herself not to focus on unimportant things. If wearing jeans to travel to London bothered Mycroft, he wasn’t showing it. She was sure, though, that only a handful of people, at most, would have ever seen him out of a suit. If anyone who thought of him as the Ice Man saw him dressed so informally, it might somehow weaken his position. Maybe Mycroft did need to avoid relationships to function most effectively in his work --

“What are you worrying about now?” When she said she wasn’t, he hummed, unconvinced, but changed the subject. “Good, because there’s something I actually _would_ like you to worry about for me if you think you’ll have time.” Molly immediately perked up. “My mother’s seventy-fifth birthday is in June, and I’d like you to think about what we should do to mark the occasion.” Molly’s expression changed to a mix of excitement and trepidation. “If you want to do this, I suggest you get with Dad to see if he has any ideas. You could also check with Sherlock, but he always does his best to avoid such family events.”

“Do you mean a dinner? A party? An evening at musical theatre?” Mycroft shuddered, and Molly chuckled, patting his arm. “I’ll try to think of something that won’t be too painful for you and your brother.”

Molly looked out the window as they neared the airport. She sat up straighter as the driver followed signs to the business aviation area. She didn’t recognize makes of planes, but they pulled to a stop near a sleek white jet with swooping red lines painted on its sides. The driver came around and opened the door for her, so Molly made herself step out with a confident smile. She stood aside though until Mycroft got out, then slid her hand around his arm, hoping her grip didn’t seem too desperate. Molly didn’t pay much attention to his conversation with the driver, her attention being focused on what looked like two pilots who’d come down the short flight of stairs leading into the plane and stopped, looking toward Mycroft.

Molly smiled at the driver as Mycroft led her toward the plane, then turned to look at the other two men. She slid her hand off Mycroft’s arm, but he took hold of it, threading their fingers together. She saw the older man glance at their clasped hands before he met her eyes, and she gave him a brief smile, then looked beyond him at the plane. The driver walked past with their bags and took them up the stairs and then came right back down, empty-handed.

“Dr. Hooper …” Molly’s attention abruptly returned to the other three men, “These are our pilots today, Andrew Davis and Thomas McLean.” It seemed appropriate to shake their hands, so Molly stuck hers out to one of them, then the other. 

Mycroft led her to the stairs and urged her up them with a hand on her back. She avoided gasping at the plane’s interior, but it was like something from a film about international spies. She glanced around, expecting to see a sexy flight attendant just waiting to welcome Mycroft into her Mile High Club. Mycroft stepped around Molly and moved to an adjoining pair of seats. He glanced back, brows raised, so she followed and took the left-side seat while he dropped into the other one. 

Several minutes later, Molly watched as the pilots boarded, the outside stairs retracted, and Mycroft got up to talk to them too quietly for her to hear. The others eventually went into the cockpit and closed the door, and Mycroft returned to his seat. He and Molly buckled their seatbelts as the jet’s engines started, and they were taxiing away from the hangar within ten minutes.

Molly had lots of questions, but asking them would mean talking about issues she wanted to avoid. Money matters, for example. For another, how was she being allowed to take a flight without anyone official having asked her for identification? She knew Mycroft would have handled whatever was required, but she didn’t like not knowing. If their relationship ever became more “official,” she would ask all those sensitive questions. For now, though …

“How long will the flight take?”

“About ninety minutes.” 

Molly had never flown in such a small plane and was surprised at how smooth the takeoff was. She watched Edinburgh fall away from them and kept staring at the landscape far below until it was obscured by clouds. She sighed and turned to Mycroft, smiling when she met his glance.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“I’m fine for now.” Molly bit her lip, then asked hesitantly. “Is one of those men an agent?” 

Mycroft’s gaze narrowed and a crease appeared between his brows. “Why do you think that?”

“Are there usually two pilots on a plane this size for such a relatively short trip?” He looked away. “Can you really not tell me if one of them actually is an agent?”

Mycroft sighed. “Molly –”

Molly straightened abruptly. “Is that how you knew what my ‘preferred activities’ were? Did you have someone watching me?”

He looked at her and let out a long breath. “Not all the time, but Andrew did keep a distant eye on you when you were out and about on your own.” He took her hand and threaded their fingers together. “The reality is that you could become a target because of our relationship, so I will do whatever I can to ensure your safety.” He held her gaze for several moments, then arched a brow. “All right?”

“I suppose.” Molly sighed when he raised the other brow. “All right.” She turned to look out the window but just saw clouds so leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Mycroft cleared his throat, and she turned her head to look at him. His eyes were lowered to their clasped hands, which he suddenly lifted to tuck against his stomach. Well, _that_ was new.

“Molly,” he started, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, “your lease is up for renewal at the end of June.” Molly’s hand jerked in his, and their eyes met as he turned his head. “Would you like to move in with me instead?”

Molly stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open, before she snapped it shut with a click of teeth. “Are you serious?” He just looked at her. “Sorry, of course you’re serious or you wouldn’t have asked.” She turned away from him, thinking swiftly, while Mycroft waited, continuing to stroke her hand. “How thoroughly have you thought this through?” She turned back to him. “I mean it – have you thought of all the practical day-to-day matters?”

“I’ve certainly given it considerable thought, but what you consider practical matters may not have crossed my mind.” 

She looked at him, suspiciously, trying to decide if that was some sort of a dig at her sometimes convoluted thought process, but decided to let it pass. She tried to put her thoughts in some sort of order. “I can’t think of everything at such short notice, but the biggest issue to me is that over all these months we’ve basically spent only two days a week together. Going from that to having me around all the time would be a big change for you.”

“You’d have me around all the time as well.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “I certainly would _not_ since you’d be at work all day and possibly at night and probably part of the weekends. You, however, would be coming home, _whenever_ you came home, to someone in your space.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“How do you know? You’ve never lived with anyone … right?” He lifted his chin, acknowledging that. “I’m afraid you’d start to feel invaded -- that you need those days alone to recover from our weekends.”

“I don’t have to ‘recover’ from our weekends.”

“Mycroft,” she said, chidingly. “I’ve been around Sherlock a lot and while you are _very_ different from him, I can’t believe you don’t need some sort of ‘depressurizing’ after having had me in your personal space all weekend.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and kept hold of her hand, but stopped rubbing it. Molly watched him, wondering what he was thinking. She let time elapse without trying to break the silence. Finally, he sighed and opened his eyes, turning to her. “I really thought you had a better understanding of our relationship from my point of view.” 

“What do you mean?”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted until he was angled toward her. “Molly, what you describe may have been the case if I’d ever been tempted to try having a relationship with someone else, but you are more … comfortable to be around than anyone I’ve ever met. Well,” he paused, tilting his head, giving her a chiding look, “… you were once you got past being so nervous around me.” He smiled briefly, then continued, “You’ve been absorbed into my life with very few adjustments on my part – at least few _unwelcome_ adjustments.” He considered Toby for a moment, but decided the cat had really behaved quite well over all. “You’ve made it surprisingly easy for me. You don’t complain about my frequent absences during our weekends or disturb me when I have to work at home. You always seem content with your own company and able to find things to do. The only so-called sacrifice I’ve made is to accept your ‘invasion’ of my home.” A crease appeared between his brows. “And to put up with your excessive demands on my body.” He smiled when Molly laughed.

“I may not walk around the house sighing like some lovesick school boy, but I am aware of you being gone during the week. I notice how quiet the house is in the evenings and how big my bed is. I miss hearing you talking to Mrs. C in the kitchen or playing the piano or singing along with that awful pop music on your iPod. I miss sharing meals with you and holding you in my arms. I miss the smell of your skin and hair so I sometimes wander into your bathroom where those scents linger the most. I even miss your drawing me into what are occasionally, quite frankly, pretty silly conversations. So you see, Molly, I don’t have to recover from your visits -- I have to adjust to your _absences.”_ As he was talking, he raised the seat separator from between them, reached over to unbuckle Molly’s seatbelt, then lifted his arm. “Now come here and stop crying.”

When she scooted over to nestle against his side, he slid his arm around her and angled his head to look down at her face. “I think you ought to move in with me, don’t you?” When Molly sniffed and nodded, Mycroft leaned his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”


	16. Enjoy Not Getting Involved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is way too long and should be cut by at least a third. I just don't have the energy to do that right now so am posting the chapter as is. I hope it's not too tedious.

Mycroft and Molly arrived at his house just before 6 p.m. after first stopping at her flat to pick up Toby from Mrs. Harrison and repack her bag with fresh clothes for the weekend. Mrs. Collingwood heard the chime signal the opening of the front gate so was already on the doorstep to greet them when the car pulled up. Once they’d released Toby, given Mrs. Collingwood the empty carrier, and settled on the timing for dinner, Mycroft and Molly headed upstairs, hand in hand.

Molly paused outside her bedroom, but Mycroft pulled her down the hall and through the door of his room, dropped their bags and took her into his arms. When Molly finally broke away to catch her breath, he dragged his mouth down her neck, whispering, “You should move your things in here.” She shivered as his words feathered over her skin, then tilted her head to give him better access, which he used to nibble a path along the base of her throat and start up the other side.

 _“Mmmmm,”_ she moaned. “You’re driving me mad.”

He briefly raised his head, “I should hope so,” then returned his attention to her neck, continuing an upward path before deliberately breathing in her ear and sending a quiver through her body. Moaning again, she clutched his back with one hand and grabbed the waistband of his jeans with the other, tugging him toward the bed.

* * * * * * * *

Half an hour later, Molly loosened her hold and let Mycroft roll onto his back to lie beside her as their breathing continued to slow. She reached her arms overhead and pointed her toes in a full body stretch, sighing with a happy hum. After a few minutes of contented silence, Molly drew a deep breath and finally responded to Mycroft’s earlier comment. “I think it would be better to keep our separate bedrooms.” He turned his head until their eyes met. “This is not a rejection, Mycroft. I just think having separate spaces for practical reasons has been good. I’ve slept here on all the nights we’ve spent together and will do so every night if you want. But if you ever _would_ like to spend a night alone, that will be fine, too.” She gave him a tentative smile. “All right?”

Mycroft studied her awhile longer, blinked slowly twice, then raised his chin. Molly knew that meant he didn’t really get it. “Why does my wanting to keep the other bedroom bother you?” 

He frowned. “Shouldn’t you _want_ to move into mine?” 

She rolled onto her elbow and propped her head on her hand. “I want to share your _bed,_ but I don’t have to move my things into your bedroom and your dressing room and your bathroom to do that. Your house being so large allows the option of using a separate bedroom for my clothes and odds and ends and having a separate bathroom.” She wrinkled her nose, then leaned over to kiss him. “I’m quite happy not to floss my teeth and shave my legs in front of you. A bit of mystery in some areas isn’t a bad thing.” She pursed her lips, looking at him expectantly until he lifted his head off the pillow and kissed her.

“All right.” He ran a finger down her cheek and stopped at her chin. “I need a shower.” He sat up and shifted to the side of the bed, then looked at her over his shoulder. “Would you like to join me?”

“OK, but no funny business,” she warned. “Mrs. C said dinner would be ready at 7:30, and I’m hungry.”

* * * * * * * * 

The next morning, Molly smiled, eyes still closed, when Mycroft smoothed the hair off her face and kissed her cheek. “Mmmmm.” Snuggling deeper into her pillow, she stretched her hand out, but felt nothing but empty sheets. She turned her head and found herself face-to-face with Mycroft, who was leaning over her, already fully dressed. “What time is it?” She asked, stifling a yawn.

“5:30.”

Looking alarmed, Molly rolled onto her back and slid a hand around his neck, tracing her fingertips along his hairline. “Trouble then?”

Mycroft’s lips twisted. “Just some politicians being politicians.” He leaned in for a kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

* * * * * * * *

Anthea was already at her desk when Mycroft walked through her office with a brief greeting and continued into his. She followed him soon after with a cup of tea, then sat to provide an update on ongoing operations. He sat calmly throughout her report, seemingly relaxed in his chair, his expression neutral, hands at ease on the desktop, but out of the corner of her eye Anthea noticed his thumb start brushing back and forth over the polished surface. She heard herself speaking faster as tension settled in the pit of her stomach, but couldn’t seem to slow down until she came to an abrupt finish. 

His voice had been soft and even with every comment or question and was softer still when he asked, “And Adams?”

Even as familiar with her boss as she was, Anthea had to suppress a shiver, knowing the absolute fury hidden within that gentle inquiry. The calmer Mycroft seemed, the likelier heads would roll.

* * * * * * * *

Molly didn’t wake again until 7:30. She quickly dressed and went to the kitchen, greeting Mrs. Collingwood with a bright smile. While her breakfast was being prepared, Molly watched Toby playing in the morning sunlight, chasing shadows on the floor from fluttering leaves outside the window. She laughed when he leapt and fell over on his back, then started licking a paw like it never happened. Molly turned back when Mrs. Collingwood set a plate before her, poured them both a cup of tea, and took a stool on the other side of the table. “Thank you, Mrs. C,” she said before biting the point off a piece of toast.

“Did you have a good time in Edinburgh?”

“The weather was beautiful and I got in a lot of hiking,” she said, smiling. “Mycroft even went on a hike.”

The housekeeper raised her brows. “And how did that go?”

“Very well actually.” Molly dropped the rest of the toast onto her plate and pulled her phone out of a pocket. “Don’t tell him I showed you, but …” she said, scrolling through her photos then holding the phone out.

Mrs. Collingwood studied the screen for several moments, then raised her brows again, smiling. “How lovely … and unexpected.”

Molly returned the phone to her pocket, ate some of her eggs, then took a sip of tea. “Mrs. C …” she hesitated.

“Is there a problem, Miss Molly?”

“Not a problem, no.” Molly took another sip of tea, then set her cup down, twiddling with the handle. “Mycroft has asked me to move in.”

Mrs. Collingwood inhaled sharply, then reached to cover Molly’s hand. “That’s wonderful, my dear.” She shook her head, eyes wide. “I never thought to see the day that -,” she broke off, leaning back. “Do you know when you’ll be moving in?"

“My lease is up at the end of June, but he’s asked me to come as soon as I want.” Molly picked up her cup, but set it down again and looked at Mrs. Collingwood. “Do you really think it’s a good idea? He’s never lived with anyone, and I’m not sure he’ll like having me here all the time once the reality sets in.”

“Mr. Mycroft never makes decisions without considering all the potential outcomes.”

“I don’t think his usual decision-making skills were completely up to the task this time,” Molly said, frowning. “He’s been influenced by … _sentiment.”_

Mrs. Collingwood took Molly’s hand in both of hers and leaned closer, looking at her sternly. “I may be speaking out of turn, but I truly believe Mr. Mycroft loves you, whether he’ll admit it or not, and you love him.” 

Molly covered their joined hands with her free one, then raised her eyes to Mrs. Collingwood’s. “He _did_ tell me, Mrs. C.” Molly felt her eyes well with tears and quickly pulled both hands free to cover her face. After a few moments, she reached for her serviette and wiped her eyes. “Sorry.” 

Mrs. Collingwood rounded the island to put an arm around Molly’s shoulders and give her a squeeze. “Have confidence, Miss Molly. You’ll both be fine.” She straightened and continued more briskly, “Now, what can I do to help you get moved?”

Molly bit her lip as she met the older woman’s gaze, but slowly smiled at seeing the other’s cheerful expression. “Maybe we should start a list.”

* * * * * * * * 

Anthea set a plate of sandwiches and a fresh cup of tea by Mycroft’s right hand and quickly left his office at his murmured thank you. He hadn’t moved from the position he’d been in an hour before – elbows on his desk, chin on his clasped hands, eyes focused on the interrogation he was watching on his laptop. She hurried back to her desk and her own view of the proceedings, picking up her turkey wrap. She dropped the sandwich back on her plate and pushed it aside when the first bite might as well have been sawdust. Any appetite she’d had disappeared as she watched one of their own being questioned about traitorous activities. 

At 2:30, Anthea sent a text to Molly, advising her not to expect Mycroft home until the evening.

At 2:55, Mycroft’s door opened and he strode across the room and out the door without a word or glance. Anthea turned back to her laptop and watched Adams sitting in the interview room, his expression cool as he maintained his usual air of condescension, still perfectly immaculate in Armani, the shirt collar crisp, the tie carefully centered between the lapels. He raised a manicured hand and shot his cuff as he checked his watch. A look of boredom passed over his face. 

At 3:00 precisely, Anthea watched the door open and Mycroft step into the interview room. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click. Anthea’s gaze quickly returned to Adams. The HD camera clearly picked up several beads of sweat that suddenly appeared along his hairline, although his expression remained unchanged. Mycroft crossed the short distance to the table with his usual elegance, smoothly pulled out a chair, slowly sat and crossed his legs, then settled against the back of the chair, wrists resting lightly on the table’s edge, fingers relaxed and unmoving. Only then did he raise his eyes to stare at the man he’d known for twenty years. His expression remained calm, pleasant even, but his eyes looked dead.

Mycroft was ruthless in his deliberation, his silence, and the beads of sweat on the other man’s forehead multiplied.

Anthea realized she was holding her breath and exhaled shakily. At that moment, Mycroft’s lips parted.

* * * * * * * * 

Molly was upstairs when she heard the front door close just after 7:30. She quickly finished brushing her hair and hurried down the stairs, pausing to listen for a moment before turning toward Mycroft’s study. She stopped at the door when she saw he was slumped behind the desk, eyes closed and face looking pale and strained. She waited silently, and he eventually straightened and opened his eyes, immediately meeting hers, so she knew he’d been aware she was there. Molly slowly crossed the room, still holding his gaze, and rounded the desk to stand beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Mycroft?”

He lowered his eyes to his hands, which were clasped together at the edge of his desk. “You should know that I am not a good man, my dear.”

Molly moved her hand to cover his as she leaned her backside against the desk. “What happened today?” When he didn’t answer or look at her, she bent until their faces were level and cupped his cheek with her free hand. “Mycroft …” He raised his lids and met her eyes with a blank stare, face impassive, jaw tight. “Mycroft,” she said again, insistently. “If there is anything you can and want to tell me, I’ll listen. But understand this … I don’t _care_ what you’ve done. I don’t know any specifics of what your work entails, but I know whatever decisions you’ve made and actions you’ve taken were for the ultimate good of ‘Queen and Country.’ You’ve given your entire adult life to your work -- and have been willing to give it literally if the scars on your back are anything to go by.” He glanced away, seeming to focus on something over Molly’s shoulder, but she thought his expression had softened and his color looked better. “No one could convince me you aren’t a good man.” His gaze shifted back to hers and she rubbed a thumb over his cheek, then smiled teasingly. “Perhaps a bit cold sometimes, but appearing to have ice water in your veins must be an asset when dealing with what and whom you face daily.” Molly straightened. “The Ice Man may strike fear in everyone else, but not me. I see through you, like it or not.” 

Mycroft leaned further back in the chair, draped his hands over the chair arms, then arched his brows over eyes that had warmed considerably. She lifted her own brows and they looked at each other in silence for several moments. Finally, sighing, Molly shifted to drop onto his lap, then looked up at him. “Well?” 

Molly stifled a gasp when he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and stared intently at her, a gleam lighting his eyes. “I was waiting for you to stop talking.” Their mouths collided in sudden urgency. Molly slid her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts tightly against him, as Mycroft cupped her head with one hand and curved the other around her bottom, pulling her closer. Their lips separated briefly and came back together at a different angle, which Mycroft took advantage of by taking Molly’s bottom lip between his teeth. She gasped and he ran his tongue soothingly over her lip, then pressed deep, engaging her in a delicious duel of advance and retreat, thrust and parry … sliding and coiling, flicking and sucking … until Molly pulled back. They stared at each other, trying to catch their breath, as her fingers went to his tie and began frantically loosening it, then dropped lower to work the top buttons of his shirt through their holes. Once she’d bared the base of his throat, she burrowed her face against his neck, pressing open lips to his pounding pulse, trying to satisfy a raw craving to taste his skin. _“Oh god,_ Mycroft – I want you so much.”

He straightened abruptly and caught her more securely against him, then stood, setting her on the edge of the desk. His hands slowly pressed her knees apart, then he stepped between them, urging her onto her back. As Molly reached between them to release the button on his trousers, Mycroft noticed the open study door and caught Molly’s hand. He took a quick breath, then, “Where’s Mrs. C?”

“What?”

“Where’s Mrs. C, Molly?”

The sensual fog suddenly cleared. “She’s in her flat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes … I think so.” The break in their headlong rush toward a swift climax had reined Mycroft in as well, and he straightened, pulling Molly into a sitting position. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest, feeling the quick rhythm of his heart against her ear. His flesh was still willing and eager, but Mycroft was back in control.

He kissed the crown of her head. “Let’s go to bed.”

She pulled back to look up at him. “Don’t you want something to eat? Aren’t you hungry?”

“No,” he answered, then continued in a lower tone, “… and yes.”

When Mycroft pushed his chair back to give Molly room, she flushed, hopped off the desk, and led the way out of the study and up the stairs.

* * * * * * * * 

An hour later, Molly woke from a light doze and turned on the lamp when Mycroft shifted to his side of the bed to get up. Tying the sash of his dressing gown, he said, “We left everything on downstairs. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

After he left, Molly got up and walked around the room, picking up their hastily discarded clothes. She shook his out and laid them over a chair, then grabbed hers and hurried down the hall to her bedroom. Toby was curled up asleep on the bed but raised his head as Molly came in, so she gave him a good scratch behind the ears before continuing to the bathroom. She quickly freshened up, brushed her teeth, and pulled on an oversized T-shirt, then hurried back to Mycroft’s room and crawled under the covers to wait for him.

On his return, Mycroft noticed Molly had put on one of his old vests and rounded the foot of the bed to sit beside her. He lingered awhile over what was intended to be a brief kiss, but pulled back resolutely. “I’m going to take a shower. Go back to sleep if you can.”

Molly was still awake when Mycroft came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing more than a pair of loose pajama bottoms. He paused when he saw her studying him intently – or with intent, more likely – then continued across the room and got into bed. _Swaggered_ was more accurate, she thought, hiding a smirk. When he slid toward her, Molly turned to lie alongside him, her head resting on his upper arm and her hand on his chest. She ran her fingers through his chest hair, repeatedly, until Mycroft asked, sounding a bit gruff. “Are you trying to start something?”

“Of course not -- it’s _much_ too soon to start something.” Molly slid her fingers through his chest hair again.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Of course not.”

“I accept,” he drawled and swiftly rolled over, eliciting a delighted squeal from Molly.

* * * * * * * *

They dawdled in bed Sunday morning, talking from time to time about nothing too important, but mostly just cuddling in all but name, since the term apparently made Mycroft queasy. They’d been quiet for a while when Molly cleared her throat. “I don’t want to push for more than you’re ready for, but do you think you might be willing to consider -,” she hesitated, then finished quickly, “… getting a dog?”

He opened his eyes, surprised. That wasn’t what he’d expected. “A dog?”

She raised her head to look up at him. “I’ve wanted a dog for a long time, but haven’t had any outdoor space since I moved to London. With the park being so close and with your big back garden, it would be easy for me to exercise him. You know I like walking in the park, and he’d be company.” She bit her lip and dropped her cheek back against his chest. “Even if you agreed to get a dog, I wouldn’t pursue it unless Mrs. C was all right with having one as well. She might not want to have a dog about all day while I’m at work.”

“And how do you think Toby would take to having a rival for your affections?”

She sighed. “I know a dog would need a lot more attention than Toby does. Maybe I could talk to the people at Battersea about fostering one to see how that went.” She looked up at him again.

“A dog …,” he frowned.

“It’s all right, Mycroft,” she said quickly. “I don’t really need a dog.”

He glanced down at her. “I’m not saying no, Molly, but having a dog isn’t something I’ve considered. The only dog I’ve ever had much to do with was Sherlock’s when he was a child and that experience didn’t end well.” He sighed, running his fingers down her arm. “Redbeard became ill and had to be put down. Sherlock was inconsolable.”

Molly turned over and wrapped her arm around Mycroft’s waist. They didn’t say anything further about it, but she wondered whether Mycroft had felt the dog’s loss as well.

* * * * * * * * 

After having skipped dinner the evening before, Mycroft made no protest when Molly hovered, encouraging him to take something off every serving dish on the dining table … a lot of choices indeed since Mrs. Collingwood had prepared a Full English. They lingered over the meal, finally splitting a third scone, which Molly slathered with raspberry jam and a generous dollop of cream.

Mycroft sipped his tea, then set the cup in its saucer. “You realize I’m too stuffed now for our planned activities.”

“Come on … a walk would do us both good.”

“No, really. We need to wait awhile.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right, old man.” Mycroft frowned at her. “Sorry.”

He finished his tea, then came around to pull Molly’s chair out. As they left the dining room, he turned her toward the dark end of the hall. She glanced up questioningly, but let him urge her along with a hand on her back. They stopped outside a closed door. Molly wondered why he was hesitating, but forgot that when he finally opened it and waved a hand for her to enter.

Molly glanced around, wide-eyed. “What a lovely room!” She turned in a circle, looking at everything, then wandered around, running her hand over the polished surface of a Queen Anne desk and along the back of a Queen Anne wingchair, draped with a lacy antimacassar. The bookcases were filled with all sorts of treasures – not only books but framed photographs and small objets d’art and miscellaneous items. She walked closer to pick up a shiny black rock and rubbed her thumb over it, before placing it back on the shelf. She studied the pale yellow walls, corner windows with an L-shaped window seat … the faded floral rug in soft pastels … the deep-cushioned sofa behind a generous coffee table … the beautiful wood floor reflecting sunlight from the windows … and turned to look at Mycroft, who was still at the threshold, watching her.

Molly returned to stand beside him. “What is this room, Mycroft?” 

She saw him swallow before he looked down at her. “It was my grandmother’s retreat.” He took her hand, then continued. “She used to spend hours in here every day while my grandfather worked in the study.”

Molly threaded their fingers together. “Did you spend time with her here?”

“I always stayed at least a week with them during summer holidays.” Mycroft looked toward the windows, and Molly saw the muscles flex on either side of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. She knew some deep emotion had gripped him and let the silence go on awhile. She finally stepped back as if to leave, but he didn’t move. “I thought you might like to use this room as your office.” He turned back to her. “You could make any changes you’d like.”

Molly lowered her eyes, blinking to force back unexpected tears, and then smiled up at him, shaking her head. “I can’t do that, Mycroft, although your offer means more to me than you could imagine.”

A deep crease appeared between his brows. “Why not?” He looked around the room before meeting her eyes again. “Is there something wrong with it?”

She squeezed his hand. “Maybe the fact that you don’t seem able to enter the room?” He flinched and looked away. “I’m not going to invade space that obviously holds sad memories for you.”

“They’re not sad memories,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “We had happy times together in here.”

“But recalling them doesn’t make you happy.”

He sighed. “Maybe not, but maybe that’s wrong. I missed my grandmother when she died, but my grandfather was never the same. I know he never came in here again. When I inherited the house, I avoided this room and put it out of my mind. Put _her_ out of my mind.” He glanced around again. “My study is different. By the time my grandfather died, we’d been using it as an office to discuss family business for years and he often left me to work at the desk. Continuing to use it as my study was never an issue.”

He took a few slow steps into the room and stopped by the sofa. “We used to sit here for afternoon tea,” he glanced down at Molly, “and my grandfather would usually join us.” He drew a long breath, then moved further into the room to stand in front of the sofa. Molly sat and tugged him down beside her. He was quiet for a while, then, “She was a lovely woman, Molly – kind and happy and funny and smart.” He let go of Molly’s hand and instead slipped his arm around her. “She loved us so much, and I – I adored her.” He bit his lip.

Molly leaned her head against his arm. “Oh, Mycroft, I know you did.”

Again, silence for a while. “She would have loved you, Molly, and I know she’d have wanted you to use her room.” Molly couldn’t stop several tears from falling, and Mycroft heard her. “Don’t cry, darling.” The volume of tears doubled at that. “Please don’t cry.”

Molly sat up, wiping her eyes with her fingers until Mycroft handed her his handkerchief. She turned back to him and raised a hand to cup his cheek. “You are so sweet.” When he rolled his eyes and made a scoffing noise, she slid her hand around his head and pulled him down until their faces were level. “I won’t tell anyone.” She tugged harder until their lips met … very sweetly. She sat back and looked around the room again. “I would only use it if you could be comfortable coming in here.” She tilted her head to study his expression.

“I can do that.” He gave her another kiss. “Seeing you in here has actually helped.”

“Good. And the only changes I would make are to add my laptop and maybe to rearrange the bookcases a bit to allow room for a few of my things.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to redecorate?”

“Of course not. It’s perfect as is.”

* * * * * * * * 

They’d spent an hour in the front sitting room, reading the Sunday papers, when Molly folded hers very deliberately and placed it on the coffee table. “All right, time to go.”

Mycroft lowered an edge of his paper, frowning. “Go where?”

She stood and grabbed his hand. “Come on, it’s time for a walk.”

“Molly –”

“We need to get moving, and there’s time for a long walk before dinner.”

“I should check my phone –”

“It’s right here.” She handed it to him, tapping her foot. “Come on.”

Mycroft briefly considered activating the function he used to cut meetings short, but figured a fake summons would mean he’d actually have to leave for the office. And he would have to lie to Molly, which he’d promised not to do.

They went upstairs to change shoes and then to the kitchen to inform Mrs. Collingwood of their plans. She waved them out the back door, smiling cheerfully.

* * * * * * * *

Mrs. Collingwood heard the front door slam and frowned. It took some effort to slam the door that loudly. She hurried toward the foyer, surprised not to hear any voices, and came to an abrupt halt as she turned into the hall. _Ah._ Mycroft and Molly weren’t talking but the air was thick with unspoken words. Mrs. Collingwood wasn’t sure exactly what they might be saying, but figured the air was at least partially blue. Molly tossed her ponytail and stomped down the hall, flinging a quick hello at the housekeeper, then stomped up the stairs.

Mycroft’s eyes met Mrs. Collingwood’s and she raised her brows. “Don’t ask.” He followed her into the kitchen and took a stool. He nodded when she raised the teapot, then watched her pour him a cup. “Thanks.”

Mrs. Collingwood returned to the sink, finished washing the potatoes and set them on the draining board. She heard Mycroft huff, but didn’t turn around. She crossed to the refrigerator and returned with a pint of cream. He huffed again, so she set the carton down, refilled her cup, and went to sit across from him. She took a sip of tea, glancing at him over the cup’s rim, then placed the cup back in its saucer, waiting patiently. It didn’t take long.

“Molly can be completely irrational,” he said, irritably, focusing on his teacup.

“Oh?”

“All I did was to inquire quite reasonably whether she thought it proper to snog her former fiancé in front of her current lover.”

“Hmm?”

“Then Tom got in my face and I politely suggested he move unless he wanted to disappear permanently –”

“Mr. Mycroft … you didn’t!”

“What?” He glanced up, frowning.

“Did you actually use those words?”

“More or less.” He paused, thinking. “More than less.”

“You actually accused Molly of snogging Tom and then threatened to kill him?”

“I didn’t say ‘kill’ …,” he said, slowly, “but they might have had cause to think it.”

Mrs. Collingwood dropped her forehead onto her hand, then glanced over at him. “What did Miss Molly do?”

“Not much,” he said grumpily. “She sent Tom on his way with an uncalled for hug and then took off for home.”

“So she hasn’t actually said anything to you?”

“She told me to shut up a couple of times when I tried to talk to her,” he said, glowering at his cup. He turned his scowl on Mrs. Collingwood a few moments later when he heard a distinct chuckle.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mycroft, but –” She broke off, pressing her fingers against her lips, eyes bright with laughter. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny when you have your first argument. It _is_ your first, right?”

He just scowled again and took a sip of tea.

“Mr. Mycroft, do you think you might have over-reacted a bit?”

“Over-reacted? She was kissing him!”

“Really? On the lips and everything?”

His started to speak, then took another sip instead.

“So … maybe _not_ on the lips?”

He ran a finger around the rim of his cup, then around it again. “Maybe not.” 

“I suggest you use your total recall ability to replay the scene in your head and see how it looks on second viewing.” Mrs. Collingwood got up and took a cold mixing bowl from the freezer. When she’d finished whipping the cream, she looked back at Mycroft, who was again staring at his cup. She put the bowl back in the refrigerator and returned to sit across from him. “What’s your conclusion then?”

“I’ve apparently been an arse.” He said dryly, then raised his eyes to hers. “I would have sworn … I don’t know what happened to me.”

“You really don’t?”

He looked confused.

“Mr. Mycroft, you were jealous.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.”

 _“Jealous,”_ she repeated, relishing it.

His gaze narrowed. “I can assure you I have never been jealous in my life.”

Mrs. Collingwood reached across to pat his hand. “Mr. Mycroft, you’ve never been in love before.” She got up and returned to her work. Without looking at him, she said, “You know what you have to do now, don’t you?” When the silence stretched out, she turned back to find him looking martyred. 

“I have to apologize.”

“And?”

“Grovel.”

* * * * * * * *

By the time Molly finished her shower, she was actually glad she hadn’t locked her bedroom door against Mycroft. She was even starting to feel some amusement at the whole thing, but wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. Meeting up with Tom while he was doing some shopping was unfortunate, but she’d been handling it well until Mycroft had turned distinctly un-Mycroft and lost his cool.

The three taps came when she was pulling a jumper over her head. “Come in!” She returned to the bathroom without saying anything and stood at the mirror, brushing her hair. She saw Mycroft’s hand first as he reached in to knock on the open door. “You can come in,” she said, arms raised as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.

He came in, but only far enough to lean against the door jamb, and then just stood there studying her. She raised her brows, determined that he would be the one to start the conversation. He took a breath and crossed his arms over his chest. He dropped his hands back by his sides. He slid a hand in his pocket, then removed it after a moment. He crossed his arms again. Molly was surprised that Mycroft was showing signs of being nervous. Just when she was about to relent, he exhaled noisily. “I’m sorry, Molly.” He took a deeper breath, then moved alongside her and met her eyes in the mirror. “I’m sorry for behaving like an arse.”

Molly bit her lip so she wouldn’t smile. “Why did you?”

He turned and paced to the shower and back, then to the tub and back again. “Apparently I was jealous.”

“You were?”

He scowled at her. “Yes!”

“You know you had absolutely no cause to be jealous,” she said evenly, turning to face him and resting her palm on his chest, “and never will.”

“I know.”

“All right.”

Mycroft waited for her to say something else, but she just stepped around him and went into the bedroom. He followed and watched her sit on the bed to pull on socks and shoes. _“‘All right’?_ Is that it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“But you were so angry!”

“Well, I’m not anymore.” She stood and walked over to stand in front of him. “I wouldn’t protest if you wanted to snog me now.”

He stared at her for a few moments, then took her up on her offer.

* * * * * * * *

Molly felt well and truly kissed by the time Mycroft left to take a shower. After checking her appearance in the mirror and straightening her jumper, she went to the kitchen and sat on a stool at the island. “Sorry for earlier.”

Mrs. Collingwood arched a brow, smiling. “Everything OK now?”

Molly flushed, but returned the smile. “It’s all sorted. Do you want me to set the dining table?”

“That’s sorted, too,” she said, with another quick smile, “but you could bring me the blue bowl from the refrigerator if you don’t mind.” She was in the process of moving the roast from roasting tray to serving dish. “Will Mr. Mycroft be down soon?”

“About ten minutes, I’d say,” Molly said, placing the bowl on the worktop.

“Thanks.” She slid the tray of drippings back in the oven. “I’ll wait a few minutes then before starting the Yorkshire pudding.”

Molly went to the sitting room to tidy up the newspapers they’d left tossed about, then sat on the sofa, listening for Mycroft. He came down a few minutes later and they stopped by the kitchen before heading to the dining room.

* * * * * * * *

Their Sunday differed from usual in more ways than their unexpected spat. 

It was unusual that, rather than returning home Sunday evening, Molly was staying over until Monday morning at Mycroft’s request. They would leave Toby at Molly’s flat on the way to Bart’s. 

It wasn’t unusual that Mycroft received a call mid-afternoon and had to work in the study for an hour or so. His wanting to take Molly on a tour of the house afterwards was.

Molly expected Mycroft to turn right at the top of the stairs so she could check out the guest suites that she’d only glimpsed briefly from the hall during their first tour all those months ago, Instead he turned left and stopped at the base of the second flight of stairs. “Have you ever looked around upstairs?”

“No, I didn’t think you used the space.” Molly frowned. “And I didn’t want to be nosy.”

“I’ve never really used the upper floor, but my grandparents often had guests staying up here,” he said as he proceeded Molly up the stairs. “The attic is useful occasionally.” He glanced back at her. “You’ve always been welcome to look at whatever you wanted, Molly.” She waved a hand dismissively in reply. 

When they reached the top landing, Mycroft turned right, then waited as Molly wandered through the bedrooms. One side of the hall had a bedroom without an ensuite, a large family-style bathroom, and closest to the stairs a large bedroom with ensuite. On the other side were three bedrooms – one without an ensuite and the other two sharing a walk-through bathroom with a separate lavatory on each side. They returned to the landing then continued down the shorter hall on the other side. Mycroft opened the first door, which was to another good-sized bedroom with an ensuite. He waited while she looked around, then led her to the door at which the short hall stopped. He looked at her over his shoulder. “The attic.”

Mycroft opened the door with a flourish, and well he might. The attic must have taken up a quarter of the top floor and looked like something from a period drama. From the threshold, she could see lots of interestingly shaped furniture covered by dust sheets, trunks of various shapes and sizes, hat boxes, several glass cases with swords, glass-fronted bookcases, a large (empty) aquarium, a couple of globes – all sorts of treasures that called for further exploration. 

Molly followed Mycroft into the room and over to what must be a large wardrobe, based on its size and general shape. It and several other generously proportioned objects blocked any view of the back half of the room. He looked down at her with an odd expression that Molly couldn’t interpret, then took her hand and threaded their fingers together. “There’s some furniture I thought you might be interested in using when you move in, but it’s up to you.”

A crease appeared between Molly’s brows. “I like what’s in my bedroom now, and I told you I don’t want to change anything in your grandmother’s room.”

“Come see.” He led her around the wardrobe and stopped at several sheet-covered shapes. He pulled the sheet off the first, then moved to the next, ignoring Molly’s gasp. He stooped at the next one to lift the sheet off slowly, glancing at Molly out of the corner of his eye. He ran a hand over the last item and gave it a little push. “I know this is old-fashioned, but it was my grandmother’s and then my mother’s before they used it for me and then Sherlock.” Molly bit her lip as she watched the cradle swing from side to side. “The rocking chair was used by my grandmother first for my mother and later by my grandmother and mother for me and Sherlock. They bought the baby bed for Mummy and Dad to use on visits after I was born.” He bent to look at the side rails. “I know it doesn’t have all the safety features of modern versions, but perhaps we could modify it if you wanted to use –” Mycroft grunted when Molly leaned over his back, wrapping her arms around his middle. He straightened carefully, then twisted around. 

Molly kept her face pressed firmly to his chest. “It can’t be this easy, Mycroft. You can’t have changed your feelings about children that easily.”

“You’re basing that on erroneous information.” He tugged on her ponytail until she tilted her head back, then brushed his thumbs over matching tear tracks. “Your position on the matter came from a desire to bring forth a mini version of me – and, good god, clearly included a hope that Sherlock might also find some way to reproduce himself. If my opinion on the matter was based solely on the case you presented, my choice would be a clear no.” His lip quirked when Molly just looked confused. “Once the real issue occurred to me, the choice was indeed easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I simply had to consider a world without the possibility of a mini-Molly Hooper. Now _that’s_ another thing entirely.” Mycroft had to suppress a groan when her eyes welled up again. He couldn’t handle much more of that and looked around for inspiration. He swung her into his arms, then stepped over to the rocking chair, pushed it into the open space with his knee, then carefully lowered them onto it. He repositioned Molly so her head was between his neck and shoulder and her legs were draped on his arm over the chair arm, then rocked a few times to satisfy himself as to the chair’s solid construction. 

Mycroft continued rocking slowly a few minutes longer before angling his head to check Molly’s face, then stopped and rubbed his chin over her head. “You know, my dear, if this is what I'd have to expect for nine months, I may need to reconsider.” He smiled at hearing her muffled snort. “I can’t handle this level of lachrymosity.”

Molly snorted even more inelegantly and sat up. He’d come prepared and shifted to pull a handkerchief from a pocket in his trousers. Molly wiped her face and then rolled her eyes at him. “Who says lachrymosity?”

His lips pursed thoughtfully. “Apparently I do, although it’s not a word I’ve previously had cause to use.”

She tucked her head back against his neck. “I’ll try not to give you cause to use it again.”

“Then you might want to avoid watching kitten videos. They seem to encourage a tendency toward it.”

Molly swatted him on the arm, but grinned to herself. She sat up again and slid her arms around his neck. He just watched her, a barely there smile lifting the corners of his lips. His lips leveled out as they continued to stare at each other, faces inches apart, then Molly slowly smiled. “I love you, Mycroft Holmes.”

Mycroft leaned closer and into the lightest of kisses, then pulled back just a fraction until their lips no longer touched. “And I love you, Molly Hooper.”


	17. Might We Expect A Happy Announcement By The End Of The Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter that starts with a narrative to move things along, but gets heavy with dialogue later.

If Molly had learned only one thing during the moving process – or, more accurately, the moving-on process -- it was that having a powerful man on her side was a major asset in getting things done ... like it or not.

Mycroft was determined to make everything as easy for her as possible. And occasionally, but only occasionally, Molly found herself just a teensy bit irritated by how easy he could make it. She had always taken care of herself and her business and was perfectly capable of continuing to do so.

_But._

Mycroft loved her and she understood his desire to take care of her. She felt the same need to take care of him and wouldn’t hesitate to do so at any opportunity that presented itself, whatever his reaction might be.

Molly loved him and would never cease to be grateful for how far he’d come for her -- not grateful in the sense that a mighty Mycroft Holmes had deigned to bend down from lofty heights to bestow his favor on little Molly Hooper, but grateful that he’d chosen to change his life for her, to set aside his privacy and let her see him bare … free of his mask, his clothing, his armor, to trust her with those parts of him he’d been a stranger to, to take a chance on a different way of living, to accept her love, and to open his heart in return. She knew he hadn’t been looking for a friend, a companion, a lover -- that he’d never sought to have anyone in his life, that she hadn’t won some sort of competition for his attentions. He would have remained content the way he was and most likely would never have questioned what he might have missed. Instead, he had deliberately chosen to go with her each step along the way … to keep letting her in, then a bit farther, and even farther still.

And now here they were, about to make their relationship more than a sometime thing. They were officially joining forces.

So Molly allowed Mycroft to help smooth her way, and Mycroft was wise enough to make sure she knew that _he_ knew she didn’t need it.

* * * * * * * *

The first week of May – the week after the Edinburgh trip -- was filled with strategy sessions, as Molly thought of them. 

Mrs. Collingwood visited the flat and helped Molly decide what to do with food, kitchen items, cleaning supplies, and other such household effects. They also took time to talk about some practical concerns Molly didn’t want to bother Mycroft with … in particular, her hesitance to turn over certain personal responsibilities to the housekeeper, such as doing her laundry. Mrs. Collingwood had shown herself to be sensitive to Molly’s feelings and, by the end of the visit, Molly was more relaxed about the quasi-employer/employee relationship that was being extended to her. From Mrs. Collingwood’s point of view, she was glad Mycroft had offered some advice on how to handle the conversation with Molly as he’d been aware of Molly’s need for reassurance and guidance in that area.

Mycroft spent Wednesday night of that week at Molly’s flat so they could talk about details of the move. After walking around the flat, Mycroft told her she didn’t need to give up anything, that there was room for it all, and that she could even empty one or more guest rooms and recreate her flat if she wanted. Once he said that, Molly thought knowing she didn’t _have_ to choose what to keep and what to discard would actually make it easier for her to give up things.

With the discussion being over so quickly, they went to bed early. Mycroft had slept at Molly’s flat on a few other occasions, and his only complaint concerned the lumpiness of her mattress. But they made do … twice actually.

* * * * * * * *

Telling Mrs. Harrison about the move wasn’t easy since the landlady had been kind and helpful to Molly over the past five years. Molly had given notice of non-renewal of the lease at the earliest opportunity but was surprised to learn by mid-May that a new tenant had already been found -- someone who wanted to move in as soon as Molly was ready to vacate. Molly was elated by the timing, both for her and her landlady’s benefit, but realized on further thought that the timing had been a bit _too_ perfect. Some persistent questioning of Mycroft disclosed that he had indeed smoothed the way, but only to the extent of matching demand to supply – that he’d simply identified a new employee who was looking for digs in the flat’s general area … _et voila._

* * * * * * * * 

Molly was relieved to set aside her concerns about the move, but others immediately rushed in to take their place. 

“Mycroft …”

“Hmmm?”

“When I raised the issue of a child, I thought you’d have to be around him –“

“Or her.”

“Him or her only at the weekends. Had you considered that –” She broke off when he gave her The Look. “Of course you did.” He grunted when she crawled over him and folded her arms on his chest. “Well, was timing part of your considerations?” 

Mycroft folded his arms under his head and stretched as best he could with her on top of him. Molly was distracted by the feel of his chest and stomach muscles stretching and contracting under her, then realized he’d said something. “What?”

“The timing is up to you, my dear.”

Molly propped her chin on her folded arms. “Um, I’m due to have my period soon –”

“On the 30th.”

“Um, right. If it’s OK with you, I think I’ll stop then.”

“If that’s what you want, it’s fine with me.”

Molly took a deep breath and released it. “I don’t know how soon my hormones will get back to normal -- maybe four to six weeks? -- but I could start ovulating in a couple of weeks. It’s different with everyone so my doctor really can’t give me a good estimate.” She stopped to rub her nose. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear the gory details, but I need to know that you’re ready for this. Assuming I _can_ get pregnant, it could happen quickly or could take a year or longer. I have no idea.”

“I’ll be happy to do my part.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, you should also be aware that one of the potential side effects of coming off oral contraceptives is an increase in libido.” He pursed his lips, considering that. “Uh-huh, and possibly moodiness and sleepiness and, ugh, bloating.”

“Poor darling,” he said, unfolding his arms to run his hands down her back.

Molly huffed, then dropped her knees to the bed on either side of his hips and sat up. “You should say that with more conviction.” She stretched her arms overhead, yawning. “Sorry.” His hands had curved around her bottom and his eyes … hmmm … were studying her breasts. “So, you want to get in some more practice?”

Five minutes later, Mycroft pressed deep, then deeper still, and Molly’s laughter turned to moans.

* * * * * * * * 

The following evening, Molly arrived at the flat after work and found Sherlock already waiting for her. She rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything about Sherlock letting himself in. 

“Molly, where are your magnets?”

“At Mycroft’s. Sherlock –”

“And your kitten pillow?”

“Also at Mycroft’s. Sherlock, come sit down.”

Sherlock made another loop around Molly’s sitting room, then threw himself into the chair, propped his feet on the edge of the coffee table, crossed his arms, and commenced staring at her. Molly ignored him and looked back at her notebook, running her pen down the list. “If we’re good to go on the venue, deejay and band, we need to get the paperwork completed and give them their deposits.” She glanced up. “Are you paying attention?”

“Hmmm.” Sherlock uncrossed his arms and draped his hands over the chair arms. “Boring.”

Molly ground her teeth, then took a deep breath and let it go. “Sherlock, your mother’s birthday is less than six weeks away, and we have to get these details finalized. In fact, _you_ should be doing it considering the great job you did with John and Mary’s wedding.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Then _help_ me.” Molly turned to the next page. “Your dad and Mycroft agree that Violet will enjoy the entertainment –”

“At least _someone_ will.”

“It’s just for one evening. Suck it up.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Having a, a –“

“I believe the hillbillies call it a hootenanny.”

“Yes, thank you, Sherlock. Plenty of people enjoy folk music and line dancing.”

“Yep. They’re called hillbillies, Molly, or I believe ‘hippies’ may be proper if in California.”

Molly laughed. “Oh, stop being so … _you._ Your parents enjoy American bluegrass, country and folk music just like millions of other people.”

Sherlock snorted. “It’s going to be _awful._ I may be sick.”

“You better not be, Sherlock. I’m counting on you to serve as master of ceremonies.”

Sherlock shot up and started pacing around the room. “Oh no you don’t, Molly Hooper. You’re not putting me in charge of this circus.”

Molly sighed, again. “Sit down, Sherlock … here, beside me.” She waited until he dropped gracelessly onto the sofa. “Come on, you know how happy Violet will be to have her gorgeous boy on the stage, impressing all her friends.”

He made a rude noise. “Compliments don’t work on me, Molly. I thought you’d have learned that by now.”

“Since when? You’ve fallen for it quite often.” Molly groaned at being drawn into squabbling with him. “We really need you, Sherlock. I can’t do it and Mycroft won’t do it.”

“Can’t do it.”

“OK, he _can’t_ do it. If you’d just oversee the dinner and first hour of entertainment, the deejay can take over. We’re booking him and the band for the entire night, so your parents and their friends can continue dancing as long as they hold out.”

“Why can’t we just have a quiet dinner in an excellent restaurant and go our separate ways after a suitable length of time …. I really am going to be sick.”

“No. You’re. Not.” Molly rose, pushed Sherlock’s legs aside, and stood in front of him. He stared up at her, definitely pouting. His eyes widened when she leaned over and braced her hands on the back of the sofa on either side of his shoulders. “Now listen to me, Sherlock,” she hissed. “You are going to do this for your parents and for Mycroft … and to a lesser extent for _me,_ for all those times you’ve made me go spare. Do you understand?”

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. “There’s no need to make such a song and dance of it.”

Molly could do nothing but laugh.

* * * * * * * *

By the last week of May, almost everything, including Toby, had been moved to Mycroft’s, and Molly stayed most nights at the house. She had chosen, however, to spend the last two nights alone in the flat, with nothing more than what clothes and toiletries she’d packed in her case and enough food for a few final meals. She came to the flat from work for the next-to-last time and wandered around the almost empty space. The new tenant had bought her sofa, chair and bed, so Molly did have somewhere to sit and sleep. She sat more than she slept as thoughts of where she’d come from and where she was going kept her awake. 

Returning to the flat from work on the last night, a Friday, felt wrong. She wasn’t where she was supposed to be. An hour later, Molly was in the back of a cab.

\- _I’m on my way home! MH xxx_  
\- _I’ll be waiting for you. MH_

* * * * * * * *

During the previous four weeks, Anthea had often been in contact with Molly, letting her know about changes in Mycroft’s arrival times or passing on messages about move- or party-related details. They’d met for lunch during the first week of May and each of them found the other surprisingly good company. The next time they got together was by choice rather than need. Mycroft was aware of their burgeoning friendship and was generally in favor of it, if only because Anthea would have more concern for the security of a friend, thus extending the protective circle around Molly just that bit more. 

As May turned to June, Mycroft realized at some level that Molly seemed to be testing his tolerance for the part of her that loved kitten pajamas, psychedelic pens, awful pop music, and - _dear lord_ \- bubblegum, which was actually not something she’d intentionally exposed to him, but he caught her blowing bubbles one afternoon when he came home earlier than expected. 

Weeks before, Mycroft had simply rolled his eyes the morning he walked into the kitchen and found a dozen magnets on the refrigerator. Molly obviously favored cuteness for such a decorative touch – puppies, kittens, cupcakes … a bear, a smiley face, a heart, a frog.

Two nights after she officially moved in, he bit his tongue when she handed him a late-night cup of tea in a Garfield mug. He noticed the smirk she tried to hide and figured not reacting was his best revenge.

But none of that really mattered to him. It was all part of what made Molly Molly. 

The very next day, however, he had to put his foot down.

* * * * * * * *

Anthea was focused on her computer, fingers flying over the keys, but smiled and swiveled her chair when she heard Mycroft’s door open. The smile wavered when her eyes met Mycroft’s narrowed stare and slowly lowered to his accusing finger.

“Do you have an explanation for this?”

Well, Anthea thought, his finger wasn’t actually pointing at her in accusation, but was extended because of what was dangling off of it -- or more accurately _adhering_ to it. Her eyes were riveted to the offending (hot pink) sticky note attached to Mycroft’s forefinger. She could see the Hello Kitty logo from her desk and didn’t need to get any closer to know what the handwritten message said. 

Anthea raised her eyes to Mycroft’s, a singular act of bravery, and smiled tentatively. “Sweet, isn’t it, sir.” He just stared at her, waiting. “I had lunch with Molly and she … gave me a mission.”

Mycroft finally lowered his hand. “You can report back ‘mission accomplished’ this time, but no more freelance assignments.”

“Understood.” She stood up. “Shall I take that, sir?”

“Certainly not. It’s _evidence.”_

Anthea took a few moments to collect herself before returning to her report. She hadn’t imagined the gleam that lit Mycroft’s eyes before he turned back into his office. In a further outbreak of insanity, she briefly considered texting Molly, but decided her new friend was on her own for this one.

Back in his office, Mycroft looked again at the hand-printed message he’d found stuck to his computer screen and knew he needed to nip such frivolities in the bud.

MH, I LOVE YOU!! MH xoxox

He carefully folded the note and slipped it between some blank pages of his notebook before returning it to his jacket pocket.

* * * * * * * *

That night, Mycroft did indeed ask Molly, for security purposes, to cease and desist with any further attempt to bring his personal life into the office.

The next morning, Molly found the note carefully taped to his dressing room mirror. 

The fact that Mycroft had kept the note warmed her heart. The fact that he now had a Hello Kitty image posted in his dressing room caused bursts of laughter at unexpected moments all day.

* * * * * * * *

It was quiet in the sitting room the next Sunday morning other than the occasional rustling of newspaper pages or scornful snort from Mycroft in response to something he’d read. Molly’s feet were tucked under his thigh and from time to time she’d rub a toe against him or he’d brush a finger over her ankle. 

“It may be considered old-fashioned these days, my dear, but if two people are in a stable relationship and decide to have a child together and plan to stay together as a family unit, I think marriage ought to be a consideration.”

Molly lowered her newspaper and stared at Mycroft at the other end of the sofa – well, stared at his newspaper since he hadn’t even dropped the corner to look at her. Was he making conversation? Making a suggestion? Proposing? _‘Family unit’?_ She raised her paper again. “Uh-huh.”

Ten minutes later, Molly flinched when Mycroft’s hand brushed over her arch. She lowered the paper again and watched as he took her foot in his hand and wiggled it. “Well?”

“Oh! Our walk … sorry.” She slid her feet off the sofa and sat up, then bent over to put her shoes on. “I just need to run upstairs for a minute.”

They’d been standing awhile at the top of Primrose Hill -- the usual turnaround point for their Sunday walks -- looking at the view, when Mycroft cleared his throat. “You didn’t answer me earlier.”

Molly cocked her head at him, forehead furrowed. “Did you ask me a question?”

His brows twitched. “The marriage thing?”

“Oh.” Molly bent down to tighten her shoe laces. “I don’t disagree with anything you said.” She stood and started downhill, looking at him over her shoulder. “Aren’t you ready to go back?” He heard him huff in annoyance behind her and grinned. She thought she knew where he was going with this but she wouldn’t do it for him.

That evening, Molly was standing in front of the open refrigerator door, trying to decide what she wanted for supper, when she heard Mycroft come up behind her. “What would you like to eat tonight?”

“I don’t care.” He slid his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Molly …”

“Hmmm?”

“Molly …,” he repeated, more insistently.

“What.”

He let go and stepped away from her, opening the refrigerator door wider. “Maybe a roast beef sandwich.” He took out the meat platter, lettuce and jar of horseradish and set them down, then went to the pantry for bread and an onion and tomato. “Do you want me to fix you one?”

“All right, but no horseradish.” Molly brought the mustard to the table and pulled out a stool. She watched as Mycroft washed his hands, then gathered some plates and cutlery before returning to the table. “What do you want to drink?”

“I think there’s a Newcastle’s in the door.”

Molly went back to the refrigerator and returned with his ale and a pitcher of lemonade, then collected a couple of glasses before sitting at the table again. He asked her how much mustard she wanted, but otherwise didn’t ask for her input. Molly was completely charmed by this domestic Mycroft. It might just be a sandwich, but it was a sandwich made by Mycroft _Bloody_ Holmes, who could make grown men shake in their shoes with just a glance.

About halfway through supper, Molly looked up in surprise when Mycroft set his glass down harder than necessary and frowned at her. “Well? Are you going to marry me or not.”

Molly carefully placed the rest of her sandwich on her plate and steadied herself on the stool, hearing the rush of blood in her ears. “As far as I can recall, you haven’t asked me.”

Mycroft’s face went blank as he blinked slowly … once, twice … and then he was back with her. He sat forward, held out a hand for hers, then threaded their fingers together and took a deep breath. “Molly Hooper, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Molly’s eyes glistened a bit, but she held back any tears. “Mycroft Holmes, would _you_ do _me_ the honor of marrying _me?”_

Mycroft gave a bark of laughter, then returned her smile. He let go of her hand and picked up his sandwich. “Well, all right then.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “You idiot.” 

* * * * * * * *

Several hours later, Molly twisted a hank of Mycroft’s hair between her fingers and slowly tightened her grip. “Mycroft …”

He nibbled an inch farther up the inside of her thigh, then raised his head when he felt the tug of her fingers. “That’s starting to hurt, my dear.”

“Oops! Sorry,” she said, releasing his hair, “but I wanted your attention.”

Molly blushed when he lowered his eyes, then looked back up at her and arched his brows. “I can assure you that you had my full attention.”

_“Oh god,”_ she said, grabbing his pillow and pulling it over her face. “Carry on.”

* * * * * * * *

The next morning, Anthea briefly lifted her fingers from the keyboard when the outside door abruptly opened …

“Anthea.”

“Sherlock.”

… then continued typing as Sherlock breezed through Mycroft’s door without knocking. At least he was expected this time.

___ 

“For once, brother mine, would you please focus on the matter at hand and stop with this petty arguing. Mummy’s party is less than three weeks away. If we’re to get everything arranged in time, I need your help.”

“You admit you can’t do it without me.”

“Yes, Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed wearily, “I cannot do it without you, and time is of the essence.”

Sherlock straightened in his chair and took out a notebook. “All right … battle stations.”

* * * * * * * *

Mycroft’s parents came to town the third weekend of June for some shopping and an afternoon matinee. Molly took Mycroft’s place at a West End musical on Saturday, an arrangement enjoyed by all three of them – and even more so by the one whose ticket she used. Mycroft considered getting out of that torture yet another unexpected advantage to having Molly in his life.

Molly and Violet hit the shops for new party dresses. As they flipped through the racks, Violet tried to weasel more details out of Molly as all she knew were the location, date and time. “Am I going to enjoy the party, Molly? After all, the boys did have a hand in arranging it.”

“Don’t worry. I kept them in line, and I believe the party will be very much to your taste.”

Violet gave Molly a swift hug and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Molly.”

When the older couple left Monday morning, they were still in the dark about the younger pair’s engagement.

* * * * * * * * 

Mycroft was stuck in a seemingly interminable Cabinet meeting the Thursday morning before Party Weekend and found his thoughts drifting to his brother. He wasn’t unsympathetic to the demons that drove Sherlock to shoot holes in Mrs. Hudson’s wall. Mycroft’s boredom, however, could not be relieved so easily. He frowned without realizing it. The other attendees glanced at each other, wondering what the Minister for Transport had said that so displeased Mycroft Holmes. 

At that moment, Mycroft felt his phone vibrate. Only five people were coded to bypass his do not disturb setting. He slipped the phone out of his pocket and briefly glanced at the screen. All eyes were fixed on Mycroft and each attendee hoped, after seeing the quick upward flick of his right eyebrow, that whatever crisis had just occurred, it wouldn’t affect their departments. 

Mycroft stood, “Excuse me for a moment, ladies, gentlemen,” and once outside the Cabinet room, walked a short way to a small alcove where he took out his phone. Less than a minute later, his phone vibrated again. He tapped another short message, then slid the phone into his pocket and walked back to the meeting room. He took his seat, crossed his legs, and turned his attention toward the Minister for Health, who had stopped talking when Mycroft came in. “Do continue, Minister.”

A few miles away, Molly took her phone out of her labcoat pocket to read the texts again.

_\- Every inch of your skin is a holy grail I’ve got to find. MH xxx_

_\- That’s nice, dear. MH_

_\- Rolling my eyes here. MH xxx_

_\- Rolling mine back, dear. MH_

She really did need to stop trying to seduce Mycroft with song lyrics. He didn’t get the reference and must think the stress from the lead-up to Party Weekend was negatively affecting her brain.

As Mycroft’s focus returned to the meeting, he admitted to himself that a break for a bit of frivolity, certainly if placed at the peak of boredom, could definitely be an advantage. 

* * * * * * * *

Molly worked the early shift Friday and walked out of Bart’s just after 3 p.m., greeting Walter with a big smile as he opened the car door for her with a flourish. He was grinning to himself when he settled back in the driver’s seat, unconcerned that the break in his usual bland countenance was likely caught on CCTV.

“What’s this, Walter?”

He glanced at Molly in the rearview mirror. “Mr. Holmes left it for you.”

Molly ran her fingers down the long stem of the single white rose, then fingered the lace ribbon that was tied around it. She wasn’t surprised that her phone rang in perfect timing.

“Thank you for my rose.”

“Happy anniversary, Molly.”

“I didn’t think you remembered.”

“How could I forget the first time you ravished me.”

Molly chuckled. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you anything.”

“You seem to have forgotten this morning.”

Molly flushed. “Oh, that.” 

“Hmm.” Mycroft went on in a brisker tone. “Are you sure about driving to The Cottage on your own?”

“I really need to get down there to make sure everything’s taken care of. Besides, I’m looking forward to spending the night on my own with your parents. It seems rather appropriate under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

“Hmm. Well, be careful and call me as soon as you arrive.”

Molly snorted. “I will, but I wonder which one of us will be letting you know first … me or my shadow.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Battle stations.”

Molly was smiling with she slid the phone into her pocket just as Walter slowed to turn through the gate. 

* * * * * * * * 

Once she was out of the most congested areas of London, Molly was thrilled at being on her way to Surrey. She lowered the window to let the fresh air toss her hair and laughed, almost overwhelmed by the pleasure of driving on her own and excitement for the weekend. When she finally swept up the long driveway and stopped alongside Violet’s car, Molly was bursting to tell everyone in the vicinity how happy she was. She opened the car door and dropped her feet to the ground, then pulled out her phone.

“I’m here and I had a fantastic drive down!”

“Good.”

_“Hi, Siger!_ Sorry, Mycroft. Your dad’s just coming.”

“Tell them hello, and enjoy your visit. I’ll be there by noon or earlier if Sherlock cooperates.”

“I love you, Mycroft,” she whispered as Siger neared the car, then finished louder. “See you tomorrow.”

“Go have fun.”

Molly slid the phone back in her pocket with one hand and returned Siger’s hug with the other arm. They stood back, hand in hand, regarding each other affectionately.

“We’re so glad you’re here, Molly.”

Molly knew he saw the tears well up before she hugged him again. She chuckled when he patted her shoulder a bit awkwardly, then looked up at him and stretched to kiss his cheek. “Don’t mind me. I’m just happy to have a father figure in my life.” She bit her lip.

“I’d be honored to serve in that capacity, darling girl,” he said, then kissed her on the forehead. “Now, let’s see about your bags.”

Violet was waiting at the door. “What’s taking so long? Get yourself over here, Molly.” 

Molly laughed when the older woman took the clothes bags from her and slung them over Siger’s shoulder, then grabbed Molly in a fierce hug. “We’ve been counting the minutes until you arrived.”

“I’m so glad to be here.”

“Well, come in, come in. Siger, what are you waiting for? Put those things down.”

Molly grinned at Violet’s fussing, then went over to pick up the hanging clothes. “Could we hang these somewhere? It’s my dress and Mycroft’s suit so … wrinkles …”

“Of course, my dear. Siger, bring Molly’s other bags.” Violet led the way upstairs and down the hall to Mycroft’s room. “Siger, put those bags on the bed. Here, Molly, give me those,” she said, then hung the clothes bags in the wardrobe. “There.” She looked around the room. “I hope you have everything you need.”

Molly glanced at Siger and found him eyeing his wife appreciatively. Certain comments Sherlock and Mycroft had made in the past came back to her, and Molly had no trouble believing that sparks still flew between the elderly couple. Unlike their children, Molly wasn’t embarrassed by the thought. 

“Now, why don’t you freshen up and come down to the kitchen. Supper’s just about ready.” Violet took Molly’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We really are happy to have you here.”

Molly smiled and returned the squeeze. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

* * * * * * * *

“Where was this one taken?”

Violet leaned over to look at where Molly was pointing. “Oh, that was in the garden at Mycroft’s – well, my parents’ house. Mycroft was -- let me think … four months old in that.” Violet turned the page. “These were taken at the same time. Those are my parents,” she looked at Molly, “but I guess you figured that out. My parents were thrilled with their first grandchild and doted on both of them.”

Molly ran her finger over the photos, smiling at the infant Mycroft’s dark quiff of hair. She turned the pages of the album slowly, studying each photo carefully. She pointed at one and turned to Violet. “His legs certainly haven’t changed much since he was a child. They’re still long, pale and beautifully shaped.”

“He always was gangly, as was Sherlock. They took after their father.”

The two women turned to study Siger, who glanced up from his book and raised his brows. Molly laughed and looked at Violet. _“That_ expression is obviously something else Mycroft got from his dad.”

Violet patted Molly’s knee and stood up. “It’s getting late and tomorrow is going to be a very busy day.” Siger stood as well and the two of them regarded Molly with such kindness that she couldn’t stop from tearing up. 

“Oh lord, I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown. “Mycroft has already bemoaned my tendency toward lachrymosity.” She looked up at them, grinning. “My word for the day.” Molly set the photo album on the side table and followed them to the kitchen. She handed her teacup and saucer to Violet, who had opened the dishwasher and was adding detergent, while Siger checked the back door. Molly remembered going through such nighttime rituals with her parents when she was a teenager and felt a sharp pang of grief for their loss.

“Molly? Are you ready to go up?”

Molly blinked as she came back to the present and looked up at Siger. “Oh, yes.” She turned and went ahead of them down the hall and up the stairs. She stopped when they reached the landing. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.” She hugged Siger, then Violet. “I hope you both sleep well.”

Violet tucked some stray hair behind Molly’s ear. “You too, darling girl.”

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Molly shut her bedroom door and leaned against it. _One more day._

* * * * * * * *

As secretly planned, Siger and Molly were up before Violet to fix a special birthday breakfast for her. 

When Violet came down the stairs, she was greeted by a large floral bouquet on the hall table and an even larger balloon bouquet tied to the bottom of the banister. She was fingering the multi-colored ribbons on the balloons when Siger and Molly started singing to her from the kitchen. She came into the room laughing as they finished the birthday song in perfect harmony. “Thank you, my darlings!” 

Rather than using the more formal dining room, Siger and Molly had dressed up the kitchen table with a crisp white tablecloth, Violet’s best china, and a bowl of gardenias. Molly had suggested making something different for breakfast, but Siger convinced her that Violet really did love a Full English Breakfast, so that’s what they prepared. When Violet sat at the table, Molly went to get the birthday cards from the family members and then presented them to Violet like a waiter with a bottle of wine. “Your cards, madam.”

They lingered over breakfast, getting to know each other a lot better. Molly answered their questions about her parents and her childhood and told them about her years at university and how she started working at Bart’s and met Sherlock. She gave them an edited version of some of her Sherlock adventures and an even more edited version of how her intimate relationship with Mycroft started. She did accurately describe her first sighting of Mycroft in the lab and her dismissal of him as a cold fish and how he later “kidnapped” her. 

By the time they got up, it was almost 10:30. Molly shooed the others out of the kitchen and did the breakfast cleanup herself. Siger and Violet went upstairs to get dressed since Mycroft and Sherlock would be arriving sooner than expected, possibly by 11:00. It was almost that time when Molly got dressed in jumper, jeans and trainers and went downstairs to the sitting room, where Siger and Violet were sitting on the sofa, reading the newspaper. When they both looked at her over the top of their reading glasses, Molly grinned and dropped into the chair across from them. She found them totally adorable. “Has Mycroft or Sherlock told you that we need to be ready to leave by 4:00?”

“4:00?” Violet frowned. “I thought the party didn’t start until 7:00.”

“It doesn’t, but Sherlock has arranged something for you on the way to the party and told me we have to be there no later than 4:30.” Molly shrugged. “He’s told me some of the details, but not everything. I was just happy that Sherlock made such an effort.”

“Well, yes … I do appreciate Sherlock wanting to surprise me. We’ll just have to be ready on time then.” She sat up, tilting her head. “I think I hear the boys now.”

Molly jumped up and hurried to the front door. Sherlock was just about to reach for the door handle when Molly swung the door open. He bowed to her, “Molls,” and, surprisingly, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as he brushed past her.

Molly felt her heart thump harder when Mycroft stopped on the doorstep, and they just stood there looking at each other until Molly turned her back against the door and let him brush past. She felt as if they hadn’t seen each other for weeks and found it hard to catch her breath. Mycroft took her arm and pulled her far enough into the hall to shut the door, then glanced over his shoulder before setting his bag down and pulling her into his arms. He just held her to him, and Molly could feel his heart beating against her cheek. “I missed you,” she whispered. She heard him swallow and wanted to drag him up the stairs, but knew it wasn’t the right time for that. She took a deep breath and pulled away. “Your parents are eager to see you.”

Mycroft pushed his bag to the side of the hall with his foot, then straightened his jacket and took her hand. “Better not keep them waiting any longer then.”

* * * * * * * *

Molly went upstairs about 12:30 to get a bath and wash her hair. The others were having a light lunch, but she didn’t want anything. 

Twenty minutes later, Molly was standing under the shower, rinsing her hair, when Mycroft came in. She hadn’t heard his knock and jumped when she saw his shadow through the shower door. She cracked it open and hissed, “What are you doing? Your parents are downstairs!”

He gave her The Look for stating something so obvious. “They’re aware that I’ve seen you naked, Molly.”

“But not when I know they know you’re seeing me naked!” Molly shut the door and adjusted the spray. “Mycroft, leave!”

“We could conserve water if I joined you.”

Molly cracked the door again. “Have you lost your mind? Leave!”

Mycroft smirked when she snapped the shower door shut. He hadn’t had any intention of joining her in the shower. He just needed a booster dose of his Molly. 

Mycroft almost ran over Sherlock when he came out of the bathroom. “Does Mummy know what you’ve been up to, brother dear?”

Mycroft just took hold of Sherlock’s arm and turned him around. “Come on. We don’t have much time.” While Mycroft stood guard, Sherlock went into their parents’ bedroom, being careful to avoid the floorboards that squeaked. Mycroft checked his pocket watch and hissed through the open door, “Hurry up.”

Sherlock finally came out, carrying a pair of western boots in each hand. Their parents apparently couldn’t line dance without their boots, and they couldn’t tell Violet she needed hers without spoiling the surprise. Mycroft went downstairs to help his dad distract his mother while Sherlock went out the back door to hide the boots in the car.

Battle stations.

* * * * * * * *

Molly and Violet were getting dressed in Violet’s bedroom, while the boys made do elsewhere. Violet finished dressing first and did a twirl in front of Molly. “What do you think?”

Her dress was of cornflower blue silk, with a sweetheart neckline, blouson-effect waist, and flared skirt, topped with a hip-length silk crepe jacket in a muted floral pattern in cornflower blue, faded rose and pale cream. Silvery threads caught the light as she spun around again. Her earrings were sapphire and diamond studs and her necklace was a twisted silver rope with a sapphire teardrop edged with tiny diamonds. The colors made her piercing blue eyes look even more striking than usual. Molly clapped her hands. “You are gorgeous, Violet!”

Violet went to stand behind Molly where she was seated at Violet’s vanity table. “You look lovely, Molly.” 

Molly turned back to the mirror and quirked her lips. “Well, I can’t let our side down. You know our boys are going to slay all the women at the party … and probably some of the men as well.” She leaned forward and raised her brows to check her lashes. “What do you think? Another coat of mascara?”

“I actually think you look perfect as is,” Violet straightened. “That color of lipstick really suits you.”

“Lipstick is a bit of a sore subject.” Molly rolled her eyes, then added at Violet’s questioning look. “Never mind.”

“Do you want me to help you get your dress over your hair?”

“Yes, please, but give me a minute.” When Molly came back from the ensuite, she suddenly felt self-conscious walking across the room in her nude-colored slip, stockings and heels. They were real stockings held up by a lacy garter belt … which was actually hidden by her slip, but all Molly could think was that they screamed, _“I’m going to have sex with your son!!”_

Molly blushed when her eyes met Violet’s and the older woman said, “Mycroft is a lucky man.” Violet smiled wickedly, which made Molly’s blush intensify. “Oh, darling … don’t be embarrassed. Your relationship makes me _very_ happy. Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

They'd found Molly’s dress in a vintage clothing shop. It was a sleeveless, silk crepe chiffon party dress from the 1950s in the lightest shade of peach, almost ivory. The empire bust had delicate pleats to gently cup Molly’s breasts, the midriff and waist were closely fitted, and the skirt was full and swingy with an extra layer of chiffon on top. The back had a deep V-neck, and the skirt stopped just above Molly’s knees. Molly pulled on a short petticoat crinoline in white chiffon, then raised her arms for Violet to work the dress over the head, carefully spread it over the crinoline, then zip up the back. 

Molly turned in a circle, which caused the skirt to lift and swirl with a swishing noise. She laughed in delight when she saw the effect in the mirror. “Oh, I love that! It’s like in the old movies.” She twirled again. “Mycroft better be ready to dance with me today.” She stopped when Violet came to look over her shoulder. 

“Molly, you look a dream. Mycroft won’t know what hit him. Now let’s finish your hair.”

Molly had curled her hair and lightly pinned the sides away from her face. She sat in front of the vanity mirror and, with Violet’s help, carefully fitted a headband in place. It was covered with cream silk and had small buttercream roses attached to it. Once Molly released her hair from the pins, the effect was that of a tiara of roses and suitable for the vintage style of the dress. As a final touch, Molly slipped on pearl drop earrings and a single-strand pearl necklace.

“These pearls are lovely, Molly.”

“They were a gift.” Molly carefully swiveled on the vanity bench, then walked to the bed to pick up her cream-colored clutch. “Are you ready to go down?”

“Let’s go wow them.”

* * * * * * * *

Violet went slowly down the stairs, taking care in her heels, followed closely by Molly. They hesitated at the sitting room door, then went through together, smiling brightly. All three men stood, Siger and Mycroft automatically smiling and Sherlock looking a bit put-upon. Siger immediately crossed to Violet and took her hands in his, spreading her arms and complimenting her extravagantly.

Molly didn’t hear what Siger said. Her smile faded and she had to bite her lip when she met Mycroft’s eyes. He had stopped smiling when his eyes turned from his mother to Molly and his expression darkened. She realized she was twisting her skirt between her fingers and let go, but didn’t know what to do. She looked at Sherlock, who glanced briefly at Mycroft, then looked back at Molly for a few moments, before rolling his eyes. He shifted closer to Mycroft and gave him a hard jab with his elbow. “For god’s sake, Mycroft … go get her.”

Molly’s jaw dropped momentarily as she stared at Sherlock, then she pressed her lips together when she looked back at Mycroft. He started walking toward her and Molly took an involuntary step back when she got a better look at him. A jolt raced through her when she finally recognized the look in his eyes, and she raised a hand to hold him off when he came up to her. “So, um, what do you think?” She could feel his heart thumping under her palm and quickly glanced at his parents to see if they’d noticed anything. She was relieved that they still had eyes only for each other. “Doesn’t your mother look beautiful, Mycroft?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Mycroft!”

He straightened abruptly, blinking quickly, then backed up a step and turned to his parents. “Yes … you look beautiful, Mummy.” He walked over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “No one would believe you’re 75.”

Molly’s eyes met Sherlock’s, and he checked his watch, then clapped his hands. “Time to go. Come on, come on, we can’t be late.”

When they went out to the cars, Molly was surprised to see Walter standing by an extended version of Mycroft’s usual car. He smiled, raised his eyebrows and nodded at her, and she went forward to greet him. “Good afternoon, Walter. I didn’t know you were driving Mycroft and Sherlock down.”

“Well, it’s a special occasion, isn’t it?”

She smiled slowly. “You only turn 75 once, that’s true.”

“Move it, Molly,” Sherlock said rudely, stepping past her. “We’ve got to go.” 

Siger went around the car to get in on the other side. Mycroft assisted his mother into the car, then turned to take Molly’s hand and help her step in. He followed and took the back-facing seat across from her while Sherlock came in from the other side, facing his dad. “Well, aren’t we a happy bunch.”

“Don’t start, Sherlock,” Violet said, automatically.

Molly turned her head to watch the passing scenery, but her every sense felt alert to Mycroft’s tiniest movement, to his every breath. She felt jittery and was afraid the others would pick up on it. She’d never been so sexually aware of Mycroft over the whole of their year together and she was embarrassed by how inappropriate the timing was. She wondered if her natural hormones had suddenly kicked in and she was experiencing the increase in libido she’d read about. Whatever it was, she wanted to squirm on the seat to release some of the tension. She was afraid to look at Mycroft.

For his part, Mycroft was still processing the shock of having almost pulled Molly to the floor of his parents’ sitting room, which would have been bad enough, but he’d almost done it in front of his parents and – possibly worse – Sherlock. He didn’t know what had come over him other than Molly looked so luscious, like a ripe peach he wanted to bite into and lick the juice. _God!_ He shifted in his seat and glanced at his parents. 

“Stop it!”

Everyone turned to look at Sherlock, shocked at his yelling. “What’s wrong, son?” Violet leaned over and put her hand on his knee. “What is it?”

Sherlock glanced quickly at Molly and Mycroft, then smiled at his mother, sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Mummy. I was thinking about a case and didn’t realize I spoke out loud.”

Molly’s eyes briefly met Mycroft’s before she turned toward the window, flushing. She heard Siger and Violet talking and even Sherlock making an occasional comment, so turned back resolutely and tried to take part in the conversation. Molly looked out the window again when Walter turned and drove over a rise before pulling to a stop on a grass verge alongside a gate in a stone wall. 

Violet leaned down to look out the window, then looked from Sherlock, to Mycroft, to Molly. “What are we doing here?”

Sherlock pushed the door open. “I’ve arranged a special musical program for you, Mummy.”

* * * * * * * *

When the guest of honor arrived at 6:45, the Great Drawing Room was already filled with Violet’s and Siger’s friends and a few extended family members, and the resulting noise level made Sherlock and Mycroft wince. The crowd started clapping as people noticed Violet arrive. Sherlock stepped in the doorway to the adjoining Long Hall to signal the band, and a rousing version of _Happy Birthday_ increased the brothers’ auditory overload. 

Sherlock came to stand by Mycroft, “We could leave now. They probably wouldn’t notice.”

“Shut up, Sherlock,” Molly hissed.

“It’s not like anyone can hear him, my dear.”

Molly glanced up at Mycroft. “Don’t you start as well.”

“Honestly, Molly. How can anyone bear this level of noise?” Sherlock glanced around. “You’d think most of them would be deaf by now.”

Molly cocked her head toward the door to the entry hall. “Come with me for a moment.” She led the way out the door and looked around until she saw a quiet corner. She quickly walked over to it and turned to wait for Mycroft and Sherlock, who were looking at her curiously. Molly glanced around them to see if anyone was watching, then opened her clutch and handed each of them a tiny plastic bag.

“I hope it’s good quality cocaine, Molly.”

Mycroft snorted, but Molly looked scandalized. “Sherlock! How can you joke about that?”

Sherlock shrugged, then ripped into the bag. He looked up in delight and gave her a quick hug. “You’re a genius! Well, not really, but this was pretty smart, Molly.”

Mycroft huffed a laugh, then opened his package as well. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Just don’t let anyone see you.” She glanced around them again. “Go ahead, but do it quickly.”

A few minutes later, the three of them returned to the drawing room and Molly looked from one to the other. “Well?”

“Tolerable.”

Molly had decided to do without the earplugs, afraid they’d show in her smaller ears, but when a loud crash of cymbals was added to the noise mix, she changed her mind. “Back in a sec.”

They’d been lucky to locate the venue, a large privately owned estate in the countryside south of Guildford that offered the large drawing room, long hall and private courtyard and garden for large functions. The drawing room had been set up with 14 round tables to seat 97 guests for dinner and the great room, with its long polished floor, had been cleared for dancing. The band was set up at the end of the great room by the archway to the drawing room. A free bar was set up in the courtyard, which was lit with soft up-lights and fairy lights and had benches spaced around its edges.

Violet, with Siger trailing behind her, came up to hug each of her sons and Molly, loudly thanking them since “loud” was the only way they would have heard. “This is simply perfect, my darlings!”

Mycroft bent to kiss her cheek. “We’re happy you approve, Mummy.” He looked past her. “It looks like the staff are getting ready to serve dinner. We better find our seats.”

Whether it was the thing to do or not, the Holmes family all sat at the same table, with the remaining two seats being filled by frequent traveling companions of Violet and Siger. “You’ve met Mycroft and Sherlock of course. Molly, let me introduce you to Richard and Carolyn Stephens.”

“And who are you, Molly?”

Mycroft broke in before his mother or Molly could answer Carolyn. “This is Dr. Molly Hooper, a brilliant pathologist on staff at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in London,” he turned to look down at her, “and I have the honor of being her husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rather important missing scene will appear in the next chapter.  
> The lyric line used in Molly's text is (obviously) from Ellie Goulding's "Love Me Like You Do."  
> By the way, I have photos of Molly's dress, the party venue, etc., and will post them on my tumblr page if anyone is interested.


	18. So ... This Is It Then, The Big Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 18 has that missing scene from Chapter 17 and more, including some ("mature") sex between our now-married couple. I apparently am incapable of writing a short chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a real St. Matthew’s Church somewhere in Surrey, but I’ve used that name only because I like it. The facility I’ve described is not based on, and has nothing to do with, any existing church. Also, I’ve taken liberties with what a real Anglican church would probably require in order to perform a marriage ceremony, but I’ve assumed Mycroft’s vast influence would overcome any roadblocks.

_Molly looked out the window again when Walter turned and drove over a rise before pulling to a stop on a grass verge alongside a gate in a stone wall._

_Violet leaned down to look out the window, then looked from Sherlock, to Mycroft, to Molly. “What are we doing here?”_

_Sherlock pushed the door open. “I’ve arranged a special musical program for you, Mummy.”_

* * * * * * * *

Behind the stone wall, atop a gently rising hill, stood St. Matthew’s Church. The church, with a history stretching back more than 850 years, was constructed of local honey-colored stone and had an imposing bell tower and beautiful stained-glass windows of various shapes and sizes.

Sherlock stepped aside as Siger followed him out of the car and turned back to assist Violet. Sherlock tapped on the driver’s window and beckoned Walter to get out, then shut the passenger door behind his mother and shepherded his parents up the walk. Violet hesitated, looking over her shoulder. “What about Mycroft and Molly?”

“Don’t worry about them,” Sherlock said, urging Violet forward with a hand on her back. “They’ll be right behind us.”

Once the others were on their way, Mycroft slid forward on the car seat and reached to take Molly’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Several seconds passed as they silently studied each other, then Mycroft slid closer until their knees touched and lifted the back of her hand to his lips. “You look glorious, Molly, and I’d have you right here, right now, if it wouldn’t mess up your dress.” His lips quirked when Molly snorted, easing the tension between them.

“And I’d let you if everyone else would temporarily disappear.” Molly slowly smiled and raised a hand to run her fingertips along her necklace, “Thank you for my beautiful pearls.” She’d found the case between the folds of her slip when she returned to their room after her shower.

“You’re welcome.” He kissed her hand again, then placed it gently on her lap. “Are you ready?”

“Definitely.”

Mycroft checked the road, then pushed the car door open and got out, taking Molly’s hand as she followed him. He looked at Walter over the roof of the car and then past him with a narrowed gaze. Molly’s eyes followed the direction of his, and she saw a man in a dark suit standing at the corner of the church before he turned away and disappeared around the side of the building. Mycroft offered his arm to Molly, steadying her as they crossed the grass verge and started up the walkway. 

“Was that Andrew from Edinburgh?”

Mycroft quickly glanced down at her. “Molly –”

She looked behind them and saw Walter following at a discreet distance. “Is Walter coming in?”

Mycroft stopped, and Molly looked again at Walter, who’d also come to a stop. “No, my dear, but he’ll be fine.”

Something about the alert manner in which the driver was standing bothered her. “Mycroft, is Walter your bodyguard?”

“Molly –”

“Is he armed?”

Mycroft met her eyes, then calmly replied. “I don’t want you to be concerned about this, my dear, but there are certain security precautions taken when I’m in an unsecured public location. As for Walter, his primary responsibility is to be my driver.” 

Molly knew that was a partial answer at best, but dropped the subject with a smile. “We better go. Your parents will be wondering what’s keeping us.” 

When they walked under the porch and passed into the church, they saw Sherlock standing at the front of the nave with his parents and a young man in a suit. Molly went to join them, while Mycroft veered left through the west gallery and toward the vestry office.

“There you are, dear,” Violet said, putting a hand on Molly’s back. “This is Robert Williamson, the church’s music director and organist.” She looked behind Molly. “Where’s Mycroft?”

“He had to take a call, but he’ll be back shortly.”

“We need to get started,” Sherlock said. “Robert?”

“Right.” Robert looked at Violet. “I hope you enjoy the music, Mrs. Holmes. Sherlock said the selections I’ll be playing are some of your favorites.” He started to walk off then turned around. “Happy birthday, Mrs. Holmes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Williamson -” 

“Yes, yes, let’s get on with it,” Sherlock interrupted impatiently, waving his parents toward the front pew. “Come on, Molly.”

 _“Sherlock,”_ Siger said, sternly. 

“What?” Sherlock blinked several times, looking from his father to his mother. “It’s already 4:30. We need to keep to the schedule.”

“It’s all right, dear.” Violet patted Sherlock’s arm. “Thank you for arranging such a special treat for me.” She sat on the pew, with Siger taking his place on her right and Molly sitting on her left. Sherlock checked his watch and sat by Molly, just as the joyous notes of Handel’s _Arrival of the Queen of Sheba_ rang out. Before the final notes had faded, Violet started clapping enthusiastically and Siger and Molly joined in. Molly supposed clapping was appropriate since the organist was performing a concert rather than for a church service, so she elbowed Sherlock, who rolled his eyes at her, but clapped several times in response.

As the next piece in what was to be a Handel-heavy program started, Mycroft strode up the aisle and flicked his hand at Sherlock to move over, then settled on the pew beside Molly and crossed his legs, which drew Molly’s attention to them. She ran her eyes from the tip of his shiny black brogues to his beloved face, then carefully tucked her fingers between his elbow and ribs and slid her hand through the gap to rest against his forearm. Mycroft turned to look at her and they gazed steadily at each other while Molly rubbed her fingers over the finely woven wool of his jacket. Just that quickly, she felt breathless again, as her core warmed and spread heat throughout her body. She saw an answering spark light Mycroft’s eyes and knew her face was flushing. The tension between them broke when the others started clapping and Molly quickly withdrew her hand to join in.

The _Hornpipe_ was followed by more selections from Handel’s _Water Music_ and _Fireworks,_ each meeting with Violet’s obvious approval.

Just after five o’clock, they all looked up when a dark-haired woman dressed in vestments came up the aisle, followed by a blond man dressed in a suit. The _Menuet_ finished just as the couple came to a stop in front of the group. “Happy birthday, Mrs. Holmes,” she said, offering Violet her hand. Violet, wide-eyed, stood to shake the rector’s hand as the others rose. “I hope you’re enjoying the music.”

“Thank you, Reverend Milner. It’s been wonderful.” Violet let go of the rector’s hand. “But what are you and Mr. Milner doing here? Oh, I’m sorry – you know my husband, but these are my sons, Mycroft and Sherlock. And this is our friend, Molly Hooper.” 

“Yes, I’ve met your sons and Dr. Hooper,” she said, shaking their hands.

Violet looked surprised. “You have?”

“This didn’t just happen, Mummy,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. “There were actually quite a lot of details to work out.”

“What details? Why is Reverend Milner here?”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed, ignoring his mother’s questions for the moment. He lowered his eyes to check his pocket watch, before snapping it closed. “I hate to appear as graceless as brother mine –” [giving Sherlock a hard look] “… but we do need to move things along.”

“Yes, of course,” Reverend Milner said. She raised a hand and the organist started playing Purcell’s _Trumpet Tune and Air_ as the rector turned and walked up the few steps into the chancel, followed by her husband. Mycroft took Molly’s hand and followed after them, leaving Sherlock to urge his parents forward with a hand on each of their backs. The rector turned at the altar to face them, and Mycroft and Molly came to a stop in front of her. Mycroft took his mother’s arm, guiding her to stand beside him, with his father on her other side. Sherlock went past them, ducked around a pillar on the left, and came back with a bouquet of creamy white roses, white freesias and lily grass that he handed to Molly before taking his place alongside her. 

Violet drew a sharp breath, grabbed Siger’s arm, and looked at Mycroft, eyes stretched wide. “What’s going on, Mycroft?”

Mycroft kissed her on the cheek. “Molly and I hope you don’t mind, but we decided your birthday would also be a good day to celebrate our future anniversaries -” He broke off when his mother’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Try not to cry, Mummy. You’ll mess up your makeup and you’ve still got a party to go to.” He grunted when Violet clutched him to her, then patted her back. “We can’t get married until you let go of me.”

Violet gave a watery chuckle, then pushed past Mycroft to hug Molly. “Molly dear, I can’t believe this!” She moved on to kiss Sherlock’s cheek, while behind her Siger squeezed Mycroft’s shoulder and hugged Molly. The rector cleared her throat, and Sherlock said, “We really do have to move on, Mummy.” 

Reverend Milner raised a hand, the Holmes group moved back into their places, and she began the service with a welcoming blessing.

Molly had thought she’d be married in a registrar’s office if the time ever came, and she had assumed that would be the case when Mycroft proposed. Although they’d both been christened, neither of them were at all religious. When they’d suddenly considered getting married in conjunction with Violet’s birthday just after Mycroft proposed, the idea of making the wedding a surprise for his parents quickly followed. Sherlock actually came up with the idea of a private organ recital as a cover story, which had the bonus of being something Violet would actually enjoy.

Four generations of the Holmes family, including Mycroft and Sherlock, had been christened at another church in the same diocese as St. Matthew’s, but St. Matthew’s was smaller and more conveniently situated near the venue for Violet’s party. With no real connection to St. Matthew’s, Mycroft and Molly would not have been able to marry there at such short notice, but St. Matthew’s agreed to the rector from Violet and Siger’s church performing the wedding service. Having both a special license and Mycroft’s connections closed the deal, and it probably didn’t hurt that he had made a significant donation to the church’s roof fund. Sherlock’s legwork had also been invaluable, which Mycroft knew he’d be reminded about for the rest of his life.

Mr. Milner did the only reading, Molly having chosen one from Song of Solomon: “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave ….”

Molly was unexpectedly happy with how things turned out as the service quickly moved on and she and Mycroft exchanged vows according to the traditional Anglican service - “to have and to hold … from this day forward … for better, for worse … to love and to cherish ….” When Molly’s turn came to take her vows, a tear fell to her cheek despite her best efforts to hold them back. Mycroft caught the drop with the pad of his thumb, which caused a choked sob to break from Violet, and Molly was hard-pressed not to echo it.

Molly knew it might be foolish, but she felt as if her parents were present and cheering her on. They’d never wanted her to be alone and now she would have a family again. When the truth of that hit her, she had to bite the inside of her cheek and abruptly took a stronger hold of Mycroft’s hand. His brows twitched in a frown but relaxed again as Molly’s eyes held his while she calmly repeated the words. She gave him a brief smile after completing her vows, then turned to face the altar as Reverend Milner moved on to the exchange of rings.

Mycroft and Molly had chosen their wedding bands during an afternoon in the private showroom of a Knightsbridge jeweler and then Mycroft had taken charge of them. The night before Molly left for The Cottage, Mycroft showed her the bands and finally told her the secret of the ring he wore on his right hand. After their marriage, he would replace that ring with his new band, which had been modified to include a security chip. Molly’s had received a similar security feature. The places where the rings had to be cut were cleverly concealed within the design of the engraving.

“… I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage … all that I am I give to you … all that I have I share with you …” 

Less than thirty minutes after the start of the abbreviated service, Mycroft and Molly were proclaimed to be husband and wife and then led to a nearby table to sign the register, while the organist began softly playing a hymn that Molly recognized as _Love Divine._ Despite Mycroft’s dislike of public displays, he and Molly had exchanged amused grins after their lips touched in the lightest of kisses. Sherlock had apparently been incapable of suppressing a disgusted snort, which was immediately followed by a muted _“ow!”_ when Violet sharply elbowed him.

As soon as Mycroft and Molly signed the register, Violet pulled the groom down to kiss his cheek, while Siger hugged the bride. “I hope you’re going to call me ‘Dad’ now, dear girl.”

“Just try and stop me!” Molly hugged him again, before turning to Violet. “And Mummy.” Molly then turned around and fixed her eyes on Sherlock, who raised both palms defensively. “Oh, yes, brother dear ... give me a hug.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, but pulled Molly to him for a brief embrace before turning away decisively. “Don’t even think about it, Mycroft.”

“I can assure you I wasn’t, little brother.” Mycroft walked over to the Milners, who had stepped back when the family members converged on each other. “Thank you again, Reverend Milner … Mr. Milner.” He turned as the organist approached. “And thank you, Mr. Williamson, for helping us give our mother such a wonderful surprise,” he paused, taking Molly’s hand as she joined them, “… and for contributing so much to our wedding service. It may have been brief, but Molly and I are both very happy with the results.”

Mycroft smiled at Molly, then turned back to the Milners as the organist walked away. “Unfortunately, we do need to get going or the guest of honor will be late for her birthday party,” he said, shaking the others’ hands. “Thanks again.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” Molly said, also shaking their hands. “This has been truly lovely.” She turned her head quickly toward the organ chamber as Handel’s _La Rejouissance_ began and the first of what would be eight bells tolled, then looked back at Mycroft, wide-eyed. The bell ringers must have been waiting in the bell tower the entire time. As they turned to go, Molly caught sight of Andrew standing to the side at the back of the church, but he turned and went down the aisle toward the bell tower when their eyes met. Molly glanced up at Mycroft, but said nothing.

Mycroft and Molly left the church as the bells continued to ring out, announcing to the village that a special ceremony had taken place. When they stepped out from under the porch, Walter was standing just outside. “Congratulations, Mr. Holmes … Mrs. Holmes,” he finished, grinning.

“Thank you, Walter,” Mycroft said, “but she’s still Molly Hooper -”

“I beg your pardon, _Mister_ Holmes,” Molly broke in, meeting Mycroft’s eyes. “I am now Molly Hooper Holmes, no hyphen, and am happy to be so.”

Mycroft looked back at Walter, with a brief smile. “I stand corrected, Walter. It appears your salutation was accurate.”

They moved farther away from the door as Sherlock and his parents came out of the church. Sherlock immediately took off down the walkway, calling over his shoulder, “Would you all come on!”

Mycroft let go of Molly’s arm and took his mother’s, while Molly took his dad’s, as they followed Sherlock to the car. The brothers again settled on the back-facing seats, leaving Molly to sit between Siger and Violet as Walter smoothly pulled away from the church. Molly gave Mycroft a wounded look for being so abandoned to his parents’ questioning, but he deliberately ignored it and looked out the window, lips twitching.

Molly patiently answered all their questions – Violet’s mostly, since Siger found it difficult to get a word in – concerning when Mycroft and Molly had become engaged, why they decided to get married so quickly, how they were able to get the arrangements done and so on. Sherlock interrupted Molly’s explanation at one point, saying, “Really, Mummy … when one knows the Archbishop of Canterbury as Mycroft does, any obstructions put in the way tend to disappear.”

Violet changed course from talking about the wedding to making broad hints about their hopes for grandchildren. Molly was relieved to see Walter was about to turn up the long drive to the Hall. As the car passed through the gates, Molly patted Violet’s hand and said, “Who knows what will happen, but both of us _are_ open to the possibility.” Sherlock groaned at that, but said nothing.

Walter pulled up at the front portico just after 6:15 p.m., right on schedule. As the group went into the reception area, Mycroft told his parents about the two suites he’d reserved – one for them and one for Sherlock – as he and Molly planned to return to The Cottage for the night. “And don’t worry, Mummy. We packed overnight bags for you and Dad with Molly’s help so they should have everything you need. There’s plenty of time for you to freshen up before the party and to check the bags for anything we might have missed.”

Mycroft went to the reception desk to get the keys to the rooms and to make sure he wasn’t needed for anything related to the party. The receptionist told him the guests were arriving early as anticipated and were being entertained. Walter came in with the bags and handed them off to a staff member who followed behind as the Hall’s manager led the Holmes family up the stairs to the first floor.

* * * * * * * *

By 7:15, all the guests had been seated for dinner in the Hall’s Great Drawing Room ….

_Whether it was the thing to do or not, the Holmes family all sat at the same table, with the remaining two seats being filled by frequent traveling companions of Violet and Siger. “You’ve met Mycroft and Sherlock of course. Molly, let me introduce you to Richard and Carolyn Stephens.”_

_“And who are you, Molly?”_

_Mycroft broke in before his mother or Molly could answer Carolyn. “This is Dr. Molly Hooper, a brilliant pathologist on staff at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in London,” he turned to look down at her, “and I have the honor of being her husband.”_

Molly gave Mycroft a wide smile, then turned a toned-down version on the Stephenses. “‘Dr. Hooper’ is just for work. I’m Molly Holmes when I’m with my family.” Violet took Molly’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, which Molly returned.

At that point, the serving staff arrived _en masse_ to begin serving dinner, and conversation ceased during the resulting commotion.

* * * * * * * *

Less than an hour later, the pudding course had been delivered, accompanied by the popping of champagne corks around the room, and both food and drink were quickly consumed in large quantities.

Sherlock had left the table to consult with the band in the Long Hall. Violet was talking to Carolyn across the table but broke off at hearing the band start a cover of Alan Jackson’s _Good Time._ Mycroft pushed his chair back and pulled his mother’s out. “You’re going to need your dancing boots, Mummy.” She laughed in delight and hugged him as Sherlock walked up with boots in both hands. “Here you go.” 

Violet sat back down and Mycroft bent to help her change her shoes, while Siger was changing his. Violet got up, grabbing Siger’s hand, and called to the guests, “Come on, everyone. We’ve got a band waiting on us.”

Mycroft, Molly and Sherlock stayed by their table until the room had mostly cleared, then discreetly returned the plugs to their ears. Mycroft sighed and took Molly’s hand, “There’s no getting out of it now. We might as well join the crowd.” 

The three of them went to the archway into the Long Hall, stopping to watch Violet as she encouraged people to get into lines. The activity and noise levels hit the roof as they all started dancing to _Boot Scootin’ Boogie,_ with many of the guests loudly singing along … including Violet and Siger.

Sherlock muttered out of the side of his mouth, “Before you decide to bring forth, remember you could end up with a country-music-loving, redneck wannabe. It’s in the genes.” He shuddered.

Molly just laughed and took Mycroft’s arm. “Come on, let’s sit down.” There were groups of chairs placed around the edges of the dance floor. “Sherlock, you have responsibilities. Go!”

As each song finished, another started, and the dancing and laughter went on and on. Sherlock had succumbed quite quickly to Violet’s urging him to dance, and Molly and Mycroft laughed at some of his antics but agreed Sherlock was a very good dancer. 

Siger came over to urge them to join the dancing, and Molly returned to the dance floor with him. Mycroft wouldn’t be budged on the matter and instead watched Molly dance with his father to – _good lord_ – a country version of _Footloose,_ a song even Mycroft knew from his younger years. Molly danced with Sherlock and several of his parents’ friends, laughing and twirling until her skirt flew up and her lacy petticoat showed. She kept glancing at him and smiling, and he knew she wanted him to dance with her.

Then Molly started flirting with Mycroft. 

The first time, she danced over to him and leaned down, swaying playfully from side to side, looking up at him under her brows, and singing along with the chorus, “If you drink don’t drive, do the watermelon crawl.” She then danced away, putting more hip action into it than was called for, he thought.

But the flirting really heated up with _Country Girl, Shake It For Me._ She came close to him and danced with a bit more down and dirty action, holding his eyes, and Mycroft actually understood some of the lyrics:

_Ponytail and a pretty smile, rope me in from a country mile,_

_So come on over here and get in my arms_

_Spin me around this big ole barn,_

_Tangle me up like grandma’s yarn …_

Molly again danced away, looking at him over her shoulder, then went to stand with his parents as the song ended and everyone clapped. When the next song seemed to be one with a slower tempo, Mycroft gave in to the temptation of Molly and walked across the room. Violet’s eyes widened and she said something to Molly, who quickly turned around. She laughed when Mycroft grabbed her hand and pulled her into a clear corner of the dance floor.

Mycroft drew her close against him and they started doing something like a Texas two-step. Molly looked up at him, wrinkling her nose, when the band started singing. “I can’t believe that, of all the songs they’ve played, Mycroft Holmes chose to dance to _Achy Breaky Heart._ You would never live it down if that got out.”

They continued dancing closely together while most of the other guests, including Sherlock, performed a line dance. Once the song was over, they left the Long Hall, removed their ear plugs, and headed for the door to the courtyard.

As they stepped outside, Molly shivered at the coolness of the evening air. Mycroft noticed and slid his jacket off, swinging it over her shoulders. Molly pulled the sides closer around her and lowered her face to breathe in … _Mycroft._ They strolled around the circular walk along the edge of the courtyard, their way being softly illuminated by up-lights and fairy lights, then stopped on the far side of the courtyard and sat on a conveniently placed bench. The lighting wasn’t strong enough to keep them from seeing all the stars in the clear, midnight blue sky. The weather was perfect and the scene was set for romance, but Molly had no illusions that Mycroft would take advantage of it in such a semi-public place.

After enjoying the relative peace for a while, Mycroft cocked his head, eyeing the full skirt of Molly’s dress. She noticed the direction of his gaze and glanced down at herself, then looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

He gave her a brief smile. “I like that dress on you and the way the skirt, ah, swishes.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “You never seem to notice what I wear.”

“I notice,” he said, slipping his arm around her, “but it only matters to me when it matters to you.”

“Mycro –” Molly’s surprised whisper was cut off as he kissed her. The jacket fell away as she lifted her arms to encircle his shoulders. When they finally pulled back, Molly rested her head against Mycroft’s chest and he tucked his jacket around her.

“The party is a great success,” she said. “Your parents are having so much fun.”

“As is Sherlock,” he said, dryly. “He’ll never admit it, but he was actually enjoying the line dancing.”

Molly laughed. “I know, but let’s not tease him about it.” She looked up at him. “Really, Mycroft. I know you two like to have a go at each other, but please let this one go. I’m really happy that he’s actually having fun with your parents.” She grinned. “However, if Sherlock tries to use the _Achy Breaky Heart_ thing against you, feel free to do your worst.”

Mycroft pulled her closer. “I think it’s late enough that we could leave without anyone but Sherlock protesting.”

“Let’s do it.”

* * * * * * * *

Even Sherlock didn’t protest when Mycroft and Molly said they were leaving. He did make a rather rude comment behind their parents’ back about not needing to worry about the thin walls at The Cottage. Mycroft ignored him, but Molly blushed.

The trip home took forty-five minutes, and Molly was in a light doze by the time Walter turned up the drive. Mycroft helped Molly out, then waited while Walter turned the car around and left. He was returning to the Hall and would bring the others home the next morning.

They let themselves into the dark house, flipped on the hall light, and closed the door. They each drew a deep breath before turning to look at the other.

“So … what are we going to do now, all alone in your parents’ house while they’re away,” Molly said, twisting a button on his waistcoat.

“I’m not supposed to have girls in my bedroom … house rules,” he said, seriously, then smiled and pulled her closer. “Wife.”

“Husband.” Molly lifted on her toes and kissed his chin before moving up to his lips. She wrapped both hands around his head, lifting herself higher as they deepened the kiss, and then abruptly broke away with a gasp. “Take me to bed, Mycroft. I can’t wait any longer.”

* * * * * * * *

Molly shivered when Mycroft pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades before slowly lowering the zipper of her dress. “Lift your arms, darling,” he whispered beside her ear, and a quiver went through her as she complied. He took hold of the hem and slowly lifted the dress over her head, then shook it out, crossed the room to the wardrobe and carefully placed the dress on a hanger. She stood, unmoving, as he returned to stand behind her, slipped his hands under the waist of her petticoat, and slowly pulled it down her legs, then waited for her to step out. He folded and placed it on a chair, then turned back to her again. There was a pause during which she wondered what he was thinking, but her own thoughts scrambled when he slid his hands around to cup her breasts while kissing the right side of her throat.

“Oh god, Mycroft –”

“Hmmm …” He let go of her breasts and slid his hands over her stomach and hips to the hem of her slip and oh-so-slowly pulled it up her body. Her breath quickened as she felt the drag of the bunched-up silk over every inch from thigh to chest before he pulled the slip over her head and tossed it onto the chair. Several seconds passed when nothing more happened. Molly started trembling as she stood in her bra, knickers, garter belt, stockings and heels and thought she’d combust if he placed a single finger on her. She heard rustling sounds and wondered what Mycroft was doing, but kept her back to him. 

Finally … at last … he pressed himself against her back, kissing the left side of her neck as he slid his hands over her stomach and pulled her more tightly to him. His forearms were bare, and, from the feel of him, Molly could tell he’d undressed down to his vest and trousers. She could also feel his erection pressing against her.

“Mycroft …”

“Hmmm?”

“When you were a teenager, did you ever fantasize about having a girl in your bedroom?”

He lifted his head. “I’ve never been prone to fantasizing about sex, Molly.”

“Oh, come on. Surely when you were going through puberty ….”

“Well ….”

“Tell me.” Molly twisted around and took hold of his arms. “Here we are, in the bedroom you had as a boy … tell me.”

Mycroft studied her face, frowning. “Why do you care about that now?”

She cocked her head, widening her eyes. _“Mycroft_ … we’re alone in your parents’ house. There’s no one to see or hear anything. For once, I’d like to fulfill a fantasy of yours, since you’ve been so good about satisfying mine.”

“I really don’t remember having any particular fantasies, Molly. I suppose I may have thought about what a girl would actually feel and look like in the flesh and how it would feel to have sex.”

Molly stepped back and waved her hand down her body. “Do you like the way I look dressed like this?”

Mycroft ran his eyes down to her heels and back up, causing another quiver to race through her. “I do, but I don’t need to see you in fancy lingerie to want you, my dear.”

“That’s good, but not exactly the point. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed as Molly left the room and wondered what he’d done wrong. He’d thought she was as eager as he was to make love and now she’d gone off on some strange tangent. He straightened when Molly returned and pushed the door shut, then leaned against it. 

“All right, Mycroft. How about we do this my way and you take over if the spirit moves you.” Molly walked across the room and stood in front of him. Mycroft could tell she’d removed her makeup and washed her face but otherwise she looked the same. He flinched in surprise when she suddenly lifted her right foot and placed her heel on the edge of the bed beside him. “Would you help me with my stocking?”

Mycroft ran his eyes down her body again and studied her leg. If Molly wanted to play the seductress, he wasn’t going to stop her. He took hold of her foot and carefully lifted it far enough to remove her shoe, then tossed it onto the floor. He ran his eyes up her leg to the top of her thigh and followed the same track with both hands. Molly gasped as his fingers ran up her leg and he unclipped the stocking at the back and then slid around to unclip it from the front suspender. He carefully rolled the stocking down her thigh, over her knee and off her foot before tossing it onto the floor by her shoe. He then dropped his hands to his thighs and waited for her next move.

Molly wobbled a bit and braced a hand on his shoulder as she raised her left foot to the edge of the bed. She straightened as Mycroft took her foot in his hand and carefully removed the shoe before running his hands up her leg. She bit her lip as he unclipped the stocking back and front and rolled it down and over her foot. When the left shoe and stocking joined the others on the floor, he sat back again, waiting.

Molly lifted her brows. “And the rest of it?”

Mycroft lowered his eyes to study the garter/knickers arrangement before rolling her knickers over her hips and letting them drop to the floor. He then hooked a finger under the garter belt on each side of her hips, dragged it down and let it fall to the floor. Molly stepped out of both garments and kicked them aside. She leaned closer and Mycroft slipped his hands along her sides, unclipped her bra and then gently pulled the straps off her shoulders and down her arms before tossing it onto the floor.

Molly straightened, shoulders pulled back, slid her hand up her right thigh, and then cocked that hip. Tilting her head to the side, she whispered, “So what do you feel like doing now?”

Molly laughed when he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the center of the bed. Before she could say anything, he crawled onto the bed and straddled her hips, pulling his vest over his head. Molly unbuttoned his trousers and ran her hand down the fly, molding her fingers around his straining flesh. He groaned and grabbed her hand to pull it away, then rolled onto the bed to push his trousers and pants down and kick them off his feet. He started to sit up, but Molly quickly crawled on top of him, knees straddling his waist. In response, he threaded their fingers together and held her away from him. “You said for me to take over if the spirit moved me. It has and I am.”

He tugged her toward him, then rolled over, taking a deep breath before clamping his mouth on hers, tongue pressing deep. He pulled away and edged backward to the foot of the bed before sliding over and taking hold of her feet. Molly lifted her head to look down her body at him. “What are you doing?”

“I told you … taking over.”

He sat back on his heels and pressed the bottoms of her feet against his chest. Molly rubbed her toes through his chest hair, waiting for his next move. “Do you have any idea how wet I am?”

Mycroft drew a sharp breath at Molly saying that aloud. They didn’t usually make sex talk and he was a little embarrassed to find it arousing. He lifted her feet off his chest and kissed one arch, then the other, and ran his hands up the backs of her calves, gently spreading her legs as he kissed his way to the back of one knee and then the other. He scooted forward between her legs, lowered himself onto his elbows, and then draped her lower legs over his shoulders. Molly’s breathing got heavier when he took her thighs in his hands and kissed his way from her left knee to the crease at the top of her leg and then started over at her right knee and dragged his mouth up that thigh. Molly’s breath caught when he slid his hands under her bottom and tilted her hips, then she exhaled with a guttural groan when he lowered his head and ran his tongue over her, before probing deeper.

Molly clutched at the sheet on either side of her and arched her back, pressing her head hard into the pillow. “Oh god, Mycroft,” she moaned, before crying out and clamping her thighs around his head as she rode the wave of her release. He ran his hands up and down the backs of her thighs, then spread her legs and lowered her feet to the bed. He sat up, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth, then met her eyes. Molly flushed, still trying to catch her breath, but held her arms out to him. He crawled over her, carefully aligning their bodies, then dropped his head besides hers on the pillow and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

“Just give me a couple of minutes to recover,” Molly said, kissing his forehead as she ran her hands down his back. She dragged the tips of her fingernails up his spine, and he shivered. She traced the same line downwards, then massaged the muscles around his tailbone, which caused him to go rigid.

“Molly –”

“You don’t need to wait any longer,” she said, smiling, as she wrapped her legs around his thighs and tilted her hips. “And don’t hold back on my account.”

Mycroft exhaled loudly and straightened his arms, then carefully positioned himself with one hand and pressed into her, groaning. He flexed his hips a couple of times and then did as Molly said and stopped holding back. She clutched at his shoulders as he settled into a hard, driving rhythm that pushed her farther up the bed. Molly let go of him and straightened her arms overhead to push against the headboard and hold herself in place. Their breaths quickened and Molly gasped loudly when Mycroft suddenly took hold of her knees and pressed them high and wide, changing the angle of his thrusts. He then slid his hand down her stomach and rubbed his thumb over her, and Molly cried out, digging her fingers into his back. Mycroft’s strokes quickened further, then he came with a groan and briefly dropped onto her, before rolling them onto their sides. They lay facing each other, as their breathing slowed. 

Molly finally drew a deep breath, held it and let it out slowly. She raised her hand and ran her fingers through Mycroft’s hair. “You can have no idea of how much I’ve wanted you all day.” She flushed a bit, then continued, “When your mother and I came downstairs after dressing, I wanted to drag you upstairs – or anywhere away from them – and jump your bones.” She ran her forefinger around the edge of his ear. “The trip to the church was a kind of exquisite torture. There you were, not three feet away from me, and I couldn’t have you, but I also knew I would have you later.” She smiled wryly. “I really don’t understand how the others didn’t pick up on it.”

“Oh, I think Sherlock did.”

Molly flushed, recalling that moment. “Oh my god, you’re right.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I was experiencing the same thing and, unlike you, had to worry about it showing.”

Molly laughed. “Really?”

“Dear lord, yes.” Mycroft rolled onto his back and sighed. “I think my parents had an idea of what was going on between us as well.”

“Well, they would know,” Molly said without thinking. When Mycroft scowled at that, she huffed. “Come on, you should be pleased to think your parents enjoy an active sex life at their age.”

“Oh god, Molly … shut up.”

Molly laughed and rolled to the other side of the bed to turn off the lamp. She then rolled back, pressed her head against his chest and slid her arm around his waist. Mycroft reached out to turn off the other lamp, then wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her closer. They were silent for a while as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

Mycroft yawned, then glanced down at Molly. “Do you feel well and truly married now, Mrs. Holmes?”

“I do, Mr. Holmes,” she replied sleepily. 

They said nothing more before drifting off to sleep.


	19. Domestic Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A transitional period: Some scenes from the early weeks of their marriage ..._

On the first morning of her marriage, Molly Hooper Holmes woke in the dim light of dawn surrounded by her husband – spooned back to his front, his hand loosely cupping her breast, his quiet breaths warm against her neck, his knee tucked between hers. Mycroft filled her senses, and she wanted to wallow in the warmth and comfort, the satisfaction and love. She hated the thought of leaving the cozy nest they’d created, but needs must.

“Mycroft, I have to go.” Molly was sitting on the side of the bed, unable to get up while he kept hold of her hand.

“Go where?” 

_“Go_ go!”

“Ah.” Mycroft released Molly reluctantly, and she stooped to grab his shirt off the floor, shrugging into it as she opened the bedroom door and hurried down the hall. After taking care of business, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, frowning at herself in the bathroom mirror. He’d certainly be up when she returned, and their wedding night would officially be over. 

Sure enough, Mycroft had already left the room. Molly walked to the window, looking past the back garden to the open fields, still gray with early morning fog, then sat in the chair, pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and sighed. A few minutes later, she heard a floorboard creak and turned just as Mycroft came through the door and got back into bed. He raised his eyebrows questioningly and the bedcovers invitingly, and Molly smiled in delight and quickly joined him. He settled the covers over them, drew her into his arms, and kissed her open-mouthed … and with serious intent.

The next time Molly woke, it was almost 8:30. She looked down at Mycroft, who was sound asleep, his hand curved around her hip, his knee tucked between her legs, his face pressed against her right breast. She wondered if he had ever before been so unguarded around anyone, if he’d ever allowed himself to relax to such an extent in another’s presence. His slow, even breaths caused both nipples to tighten and goose pimples to roughen her sensitive skin. Mycroft’s arm twitched, and Molly watched as he blinked a few times before raising his head to look at her. He started to speak, but was interrupted by a yawn, which he quickly covered with his hand. “Sorry, my dear,” he said, dropping his hand to her stomach. “My head must have felt like a boulder.”

“Not at all,” she said, smiling, then reached to run her fingers through his hair. “I like it when you fall asleep on me.”

Mycroft returned the smile, then lowered his eyes to her breasts before kissing his way to her right nipple and drawing it between his lips. Molly hummed with pleasure, but he released her now-wet areola with a sigh. “Knowing my parents, they’ll be on their way home soon. If we’re going to be up and dressed before they arrive, we better head to the shower now.”

“Together?”

“For bathing, not horsing around,” he said, mock sternly, then stretched to give her a brief kiss before getting out of bed. He crossed to the wardrobe, removed their dressing gowns, tossed hers onto the bed, and then shrugged into his as he left the room. When Molly stood, her thigh muscles trembled and the flesh between her legs felt a bit tender. Their early morning lovemaking had ended up being just as _vigorous_ as the night before but had been far more drawn out, and she felt marvelous -- unsteady and a little achy, but absolutely _marvelous._

* * * * * * * *

“Did the two of you try out our Jacuzzi?”

Molly’s brows quirked. “No, we didn’t.”

“It’s wonderful for any aches and pains,” Violet paused and arched a brow, “and sharing a bathtub can be such fun.”

Molly shot a quick glance at Mycroft, then at Sherlock, taking in their identical frozen expressions, and tucked in her lips as she turned back to her mother-in-law. Their eyes met, and both women laughed merrily. Violet looked at Siger, shaking her head. “How did we end up with sons who are such _prudes?”_

The five of them were sitting around the kitchen table, having a late-morning cup of tea and chatting about the party. More accurately, Molly and her in-laws were chatting; Mycroft and Sherlock were taking turns sighing, when they weren’t having some sort of silent communication/argument. The others had arrived just after 10:30, when Violet greeted the younger couple with exuberant hugs and kisses. Molly had returned them enthusiastically and given Mycroft a hard look when he started to scowl at his mother’s approach. He’d quickly rearranged his face to a more neutral expression, and Molly had had to suppress a giggle.

The day was clear and warm, and the family walked to the village for an early lunch at a pub that did a good traditional Sunday dinner. By the time they finished eating, it was just after 2:00 and Walter was waiting to drive them back to The Cottage. Mycroft and Molly immediately headed upstairs to get their things together and were on their way to London less than an hour later. Mycroft was traveling with Walter so he could do some work and return a few calls. Sherlock was with Molly so he could … _not_ be with his brother.

“Sir?”

Mycroft looked up as he slid his phone into his pocket. “What is it, Walter?”

Walter glanced at him in the rearview mirror, dropped his gaze to the speedometer, then met Mycroft’s eyes again, without saying anything. After a few moments, Mycroft raised his brows. “How fast?”

“Eighty.”

Mycroft sighed and pulled out his phone again. “Having fun, brother mine?”

“What do you want, Mycroft,” Sherlock demanded, irritably. 

“Put me on speaker.” Mycroft recognized the Scowling Silence that followed his instruction, but after a moment Molly’s singing in the background got louder and he had to raise his voice to be heard. “My dear?”

“Oh - hi, Mycroft!” The music was abruptly cut off. “What’s going on?”

“Are you aware that the speed limit along here is sixty?” Mycroft’s tone was mild, but had an undertone of amusement.

“Oops! Is Walter having trouble keeping up?”

“Molly –”

“Just kidding,” she said. “We’ll pay more attention to the speed limit … right, Sherlock?”

“Do take care, darling.” Mycroft grimaced when he let that endearment slip out and heard Sherlock snort in disgust. “We’ll be entering a more congested area shortly.”

“Will do. See you later!”

Mycroft rung off and his eyes unintentionally met Walter’s. Mycroft turned to look out the window, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Letting Walter glimpse a bit of his private life was one thing, but Mycroft needed to shore up his defenses to avoid revealing any soft spots to anyone else.

Molly eventually came to a stop outside Baker Street. By the time she and Sherlock got out of the car, Walter drew up at the curb behind them and kept the car idling. Mycroft watched as Sherlock grabbed his bag and tried to make a swift getaway, but Molly quickly caught hold of his coat. Sherlock scowled but allowed her to pull him down for a kiss on the cheek, and Mycroft saw his expression soften before he abruptly turned away and entered the flat. Molly grinned and waved her fingers in Mycroft’s direction, then got in the other car and drove off.

By the time Molly parked the car in the garage, Walter had already dropped Mycroft off and left. She came through the back door, passed through the kitchen and arrived in the front hall just as Mycroft started up the stairs with their bags. They returned to the kitchen half an hour later and Mycroft took a seat at the island while Molly got the kettle going.

“Should we ask Mrs. C to come over for a few minutes?” On Sundays, the housekeeper usually left for her flat by mid-afternoon.

Mycroft planted his elbow on the table and propped his head on his fist. “I wouldn’t put it past Mummy to call her.”

“So that’s a yes then.” Molly went to the house phone and invited Mrs. Collingwood to share some tea with them. “She’s on her way.” 

While Molly finished making the tea, Mycroft brought cups and saucers to the table and then went to the pantry for the biscuit barrel. They heard the back door open and a few moments later Mrs. Collingwood entered the kitchen, stooping to pick up Toby as she greeted them with a big smile. “Welcome back! How was the party?”

“Mummy was overjoyed,” Mycroft said, with a wry smile. “It was a nightmare.”

 _“Mycroft!_ It was wonderful, Mrs. C,” Molly insisted. “Mummy and Dad both had a fantastic time, which is all that matters. Here … sit down.” Molly waited while she did so, then poured the housekeeper a cup of tea. “How has your weekend been?”

“Exceedingly quiet,” she said.

Molly sat and took a slow sip of her tea, then drew a deep breath and set the cup down. “We have some news.” She glanced at Mycroft, then placed her left hand flat on the table in front of Mrs. Collingwood. Mycroft put his right hand on the table beside Molly’s.

The housekeeper studied their hands for a moment, then ran her finger over Molly’s ring before doing the same to Mycroft’s. “That’s not the same ring.” She glanced quickly from him to Molly, and her eyes widened. 

Mycroft took Molly’s hand and threaded their fingers together, causing their rings to click lightly. “We got married by special license Saturday afternoon with just my parents and Sherlock there.” His lips quirked. “I’m sure Molly will be happy to share all the details with you later.”

“Congratulations!” She gave them a bright smile. “Did you take any photos?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but Molly pulled her phone out. “Just a couple of quick ones the rector’s husband took after we signed the register.” She walked around to the other side of the island and handed the housekeeper her phone. The photos were actually quite good and Molly was happy to have them, considering how photo-averse Mycroft was. The five of them were gathered close together, Molly and Mycroft in the middle, Sherlock on Molly’s far side, Violet and Siger next to Mycroft. The brothers were even smiling. 

“Oh, you all look lovely … especially you, Miss Molly,” Mrs. Collingwood said, handing the phone back to Molly and reaching into a pocket for a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes, while Mycroft suppressed a groan. “You should have some prints made.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Molly said, giving Mycroft a speaking glance.

* * * * * * * * 

After checking her list Monday morning, Molly left the morgue and went to find Mike Stamford. He was in his office, door open, and looked up in surprise when Molly dropped into a chair in front of his desk. “Problem?”

“No …” Molly hesitated, unconsciously twisting her new ring around her finger. She looked up and saw Mike’s eyes were on it. “Um, I got married over the weekend.”

“What?” Mike’s jaw dropped. _“Who?_ I didn’t know you were dating anyone!”

“Um, Mycroft Holmes.”

Mike’s mouth fell open again. “I knew he was here that time you –” He abruptly changed course. “Mycroft Holmes? When did this happen?”

“Actually … we’ve been involved for more than a year.”

 _“A year!”_ Mike came around the desk and took the chair beside Molly. “Dear lord, Molly, you’ve certainly kept _that_ secret.” He shook his head, then gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m happy for you if you’re happy, but … _Sherlock’s brother?_ I can’t believe it.”

“I’m _very_ happy, Mike.” Her smile faded as she looked at him. “But I’m, um, not sure how my job might end up being affected. We’re, um, going to try for a baby.”

Mike just stared at her for several seconds, then dropped his eyes to his hands and sighed. “I’d hate to lose your services in the lab and morgue, Molly, but we could definitely find other options for you if necessary.” He quickly checked his watch and sighed. “I have a lecture in a few minutes.” He moved back behind his desk and started gathering some papers. “Don’t worry. If you do get pregnant – and I wish you the best with that, Molly – and need to stay away from some aspects of the job for a while, we’ll make it work.”

“Thanks, Mike,” she said, giving him a relieved smile. “By the way, I want to keep the news of my marriage on a need-to-know basis for as long as possible. Do I have to inform anyone else here?”

They discussed that as Molly walked out of the office with him. When he turned down a side corridor, she continued toward human resources.

At about the same time a couple of miles away, Mycroft finished reading a report on a diplomatic incident involving one of his agents in Karachi, then leaned back, staring at his closed door. He picked up his pen, fingers turning it in circles for several seconds, then stilled when Anthea’s soft knock was followed by her entering with his mid-morning cup of tea. Her gaze briefly lowered to his fingers before meeting his eyes. Mycroft placed the pen on his desk and waved a hand toward her chair. Anthea settled, then met his eyes again, waiting for his instructions with a raised brow. Mycroft glanced down at the file he’d been studying, then looked up at her, narrow-eyed. “I believe you once knew Peter quite well. What’s _not_ in this report?”

Anthea hesitated. “I believe Peter knew the son of one of the commissioners when they were at university.”

“And?”

“Although there’s lately been a certain level of acceptance, or at least tolerance, toward gay men among some people in Karachi, I don’t believe that particular commissioner is one of them.”

“And Peter and the commissioner’s son are still …?”

“I don’t believe so, but –”

“The commissioner may be using the current situation to punish what he sees as a past transgression, assuming he’s become aware of it.” Mycroft closed the file, thanked her, and turned to his laptop. When she didn’t leave, he looked up at her, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Sir, I was just wondering about how Saturday went –” She broke off when he frowned, but then he swiveled his chair until he was facing her, leaned back and draped his hands over the chair arms. 

Mycroft studied her expression for several moments, then surprised her by raising his right hand and wiggling his ring finger. “I am now a married man,” he said lightly. “I’m sure Molly will be happy to share all the details with you the next time you meet for lunch.”

Anthea felt her cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean to pry, sir.” She stood, but sat again when he pointed a finger at the chair.

Mycroft sighed, then leaned forward, planted his elbows on the desk and propped his chin on the tips of his steepled fingers. “Anthea, I do understand your interest. The wedding went very well – in fact, the arrangements went off even better than I expected. Unfortunately, Sherlock will no doubt be forever reminding me of his role in making that happen.” He smiled at her. “Feel free to talk to Molly about the details. I trust your – and her -- discretion.”

Anthea stood again. “Thank you, sir. And congratulations.”

When the door closed behind her, Mycroft rubbed his temple, but his expression was still light-hearted when he turned back to the computer.

* * * * * * * * 

Molly was in the middle of her second post mortem Thursday morning when the morgue’s door opened abruptly, followed by a mass of people and noise – in other words, Sherlock, John and Greg … arguing. She paid no attention until the three of them finally settled down and came to stand side-by-side across from her, each peering curiously into Mr. Davidson’s chest cavity.

“Heart attack … boring,” Sherlock said over his shoulder as he crossed the room to the cooling drawers.

Greg arched a brow at Molly. “Oh, yes – Sherlock’s right, but we had to check since Mr. Davidson also had a blunt force trauma to the back of his head. He most likely hit it on the hearth after having the heart attack, but he wasn’t found for about three days so ...”

“Yep, boring.”

_“Greg!”_

John had already followed Sherlock, and Greg grinned at Molly and went after him. Molly stared at their backs suspiciously. “What are you doing?” Sherlock started to open one of the drawers. “Sherlock, stop! I haven’t done that one yet.”

“I know, but we don’t have time to wait –”

“Sherlock, _STOP!”_ Molly went to the sink to wash her hands, then pulled off her gloves and washed her hands again before hurrying across the room to push the drawer shut and stand in front of it. “You have to let me do my job.”

“But you’re taking too long.” Sherlock took hold of Molly’s shoulders and tried to move her over without using too much force. He huffed in frustration when she wouldn’t move. “Molly, let us take a quick look, then we’ll be out of here.”

“You go stand over there and let me get him out properly.”

“You are being extremely stubborn, sister dear.”

Molly rolled her eyes as Sherlock lifted his hands and backed away. She then glanced at Greg, who was staring at her open-mouthed, and quickly glanced at John, who also looked gob-smacked. She thought back over what had just happened. _Oh._ “Um, guys, there’s been a development -”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Sherlock hissed between gritted teeth. “We don’t have time for this.” He reached to grab the drawer handle again, then tossed over his shoulder. “Mycroft and Molly got married on Saturday, so say hello to my sister-in-law.”

Greg and John looked from Sherlock to Molly as if synchronized, and Molly laughed. “John, I think you better call Mary.”  
John’s stare suddenly took on focus and he abruptly straightened to his military stance. “Right.” He walked off as he pulled his phone out of a pocket, glancing back as Molly called after him. “Tell Mary I’ll call her later with the details!”

Molly turned back to pat Greg’s arm. “It’s all right, Greg. The world hasn’t turned upside down. I’m still Molly.” She laughed again, then shoved Sherlock aside with her hip and slid the drawer open.

* * * * * * * * 

Arriving home after finishing an early shift the following Wednesday, Molly opened the front door and grabbed hold of a somewhat dazed Meena to pull her inside. They’d left the St. John’s Wood tube station and turned up Acacia Road, and Meena had looked more and more surprised as they made their way through the neighborhood before Molly finally stopped at the gated drive and entered a security code.

Once in the front hall, Molly waited for Meena to hang up her jacket, then led the way to the kitchen. There was no sign of Mrs. Collingwood, so Molly reversed course and returned to the hall. Meena hadn’t said anything and still looked shocked. “Meena, it’s just a house.” Molly took her arm to get her moving again. “Come on … I’ll give you a quick tour of the ground floor, but then I want to talk to you.” She took Meena down the main hall and let her look at the sitting and music rooms, then a briefer look from the doorway at Mycroft’s study, then on to the dining room and finally into what was now her office. Molly hesitated, then backtracked and led the way to the gym.

“Are you kidding me?” Meena walked over to run a hand down the sword held by an armored knight. _“This_ is where you work out?”

Molly laughed. “We’re talking Mycroft here – remember?”

Meena followed her up the stairs to the first floor, then up the next flight and through the door of a large, sun-filled room where they found Toby curled up on the cushioned window seat. Meena recognized some of Molly’s things and felt more at home at seeing her television with its usual haphazard stack of DVDs and the built-in bookcases filled with Molly’s books and knickknacks. She dropped into a deep-cushioned chair after picking up a familiar kitten pillow. “Molly, this house …”

“I know, Meena. It previously belonged to Mycroft’s grandparents and he’s lived here for more than fifteen years. Despite, well, _everything_ … this really is a welcoming and comfortable _home._ It was his, now it’s ours, and that’s that. Well, Mycroft wants me to believe that, but sometimes I still think … _good god!”_

“You’ll just have to fill it with children.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Even if we wanted to have a bunch of kids, my biological clock is getting too near midnight for that! No, we’re going to try to have _one_ child and then who knows. But two would be it, I think.”

Molly used the house phone to let Mrs. Collingwood know they were upstairs, then stretched out on the sofa and launched into a description of what had been happening over the past month. After a while, they went to the kitchen and had tea with the housekeeper and then returned to Molly’s “den.” Time passed quickly as Meena caught Molly up on the goings-on with their mutual friends, and Molly was surprised when she heard what sounded like the front door closing. She left the room and leaned over the stairwell, then came back and put her shoes on. “Listen, Meena, give me a few minutes and then come down, OK?”

Meena nodded her agreement and Molly hurried downstairs. She found Mycroft in the kitchen talking to Mrs. Collingwood and walked over to stand beside him. “Good evening, Mr. Holmes,” she said, teasingly. “I hope you’ve had a good day.”

Mycroft put his hand on Molly’s back to urge her out of the room. Once in the hall, he gave her a brief kiss. “Good enough,” he said. “Mrs. C said you have a guest.”

“My friend Meena. She’ll be down in a minute,” Molly said, then tilted to head to study Mycroft’s expression. “You’re home earlier than I expected. Do you mind if she stays awhile?”

Mycroft tucked some loose hair behind Molly’s ear. “Why don’t you invite her to stay for dinner? I have some work to finish, but should be through by that time.” Molly heard Meena coming down the stairs before she could respond. 

When Meena saw them both watching her, she slowed her pace and stopped on the bottom stair. “Hello.”

Molly took Mycroft’s hand and pulled him across the hall. “Mycroft, this is my friend, Meena Richardson.”

“Mr. Holmes,” Meena said, offering her hand.

“Mycroft, please,” he responded lightly, shaking her hand. “Welcome to our home.”

Molly glanced at Meena and wasn’t surprised to see a slightly dazzled look on her face. Mycroft being charming was a bit overwhelming. Then there was his navy pin-stripe … _oh god._ Molly cleared her throat. “Would you like to stay to dinner, Meena?”

“Uh, yes. That would be nice,” she stopped to swallow. “Thank you.”

Mycroft looked down at Molly and smiled. “I’ll see you both later then.” He nodded at Meena, then turned and walked to his study. Molly and Meena stared after him until he shut the door, then stared at each other.

_“Wow.”_

“I told you.” Molly grinned. “When you saw him outside Bart’s several months ago, you said someone his age who looked so cold-blooded and wore three-piece suits and carried an umbrella couldn’t possibly be hot.”

Meena grabbed Molly’s arm and tugged her toward the stairs. “I want to hear absolutely _everything …”_

“Wait a minute.” Molly pulled her arm free and led the way to the kitchen, where they found the housekeeper rolling out dough on a pastry board. “Mrs. C, Meena is going to be joining us for dinner. What time should we be down?”

“That’s nice, Miss Molly,” she said, smiling at both of them. “7:30 should be good.”

“Is there anything we could do to help?”

“No, no – go have a nice visit.”

Molly and Meena returned upstairs and Molly offered sufficient details about her relationship with Mycroft to satisfy Meena’s curiosity without being overly indiscreet. He would probably consider sharing _anything_ about their sex life to be indiscreet, but men – and Mycroft in particular -- understood nothing about what women expected of each other when it came to girl talk. Besides, Molly didn’t have to say that much. Meena was good at reading between the lines … and thus ended up being _thrilled_ for Molly and not a little envious.

Dinner went well, with Molly and Meena talking almost non-stop. Mycroft didn’t need to say much but occasionally offered an opinion or comment. Molly could tell Meena was still somewhat intimidated by him, but that didn’t stop her from being her usual chatty self. Meena had another early shift the next day so left just after 9:00 in Mycroft’s car. Molly had been surprised to see the driver was Andrew, but greeted him without making further comment to Mycroft. She’d decided not to question his security arrangements unless something about them truly bothered her. _That_ didn’t.

When they finally went upstairs to go to bed, Molly stopped outside her bedroom. “You must really need to decompress after spending the evening with both me _and_ Meena. Would you like a quiet night alone?”

“No, I need sex,” he said calmly.

“What?” 

Mycroft chuckled at Molly’s shocked expression and then cupped her chin and tilted her head back as he carefully studied her face. “I would like to make love with you,” he said, giving her a lingering kiss. “Is that better?”

“The other works for me as well – I was just surprised that you said it.” Molly slid her arms around his neck and lifted into another kiss. “So what are you waiting for?” She laughed when he swept her up and carried her down the hall. Just as she’d hoped he would.

* * * * * * * *

Two days later, Molly was finishing a report on her latest post mortem when a sudden cramp made her double over. After it passed, she massaged her stomach and thought about what she’d eaten for lunch. When the cramping started again, she recognized the feeling and quickly left her office and went to the locker room. Half an hour later, she went to Mike’s office and sank into a chair. “I finished the McDade PM and there aren’t any more on the list. Would it be all right for me to leave early?”

“Of course, but are you ill?” Mike studied her pale face and then came around the desk. “Can I help you?”

Molly waved a hand. “Don’t worry, Mike. I stopped my oral contraceptive about six weeks ago and my first ‘normal’ post-pill period just started. After taking the pill for so many years, I’d forgotten what my cramps used to feel like. I’ll be fine by Monday.” She stood a bit gingerly and Mike walked with her down the hall to her office and waited while she got her handbag and locked up. She looked at his expression and smiled. “You don’t have to see me off the premises, Mike. I’m OK … _really.”_

Mike watched her walk down the long corridor and push through the first set of doors, then turned to go back to his office. He thought about Mycroft and wondered if he’d expect Mike to have let someone know about Molly feeling unwell. Mike certainly wasn’t afraid of Mycroft, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to give John a call.

Molly was walking home from the tube station when her phone went off. “Hi, John … what’s up?” She perched a hip on a conveniently located half-wall. “What? No, I’m fine. How did you – oh, Mike. No, really, it’s just cramps.” She let out an exasperated breath. “Yes, I promise to call you if I feel worse. Honestly, I _do_ recognize menstrual cramps!” She listened for a moment, then broke in. “For god’s sake, don’t you _dare_ contact Mycroft!” Pause. “OK, fine. I’ll call you later. Now let me go so I can get home to a hot water bottle.” Molly rang off and rolled her eyes … _Men!_ … then smiled fondly at the thought of her friends wanting to take care of her.

An hour later, Molly had taken a quick shower and put on a T-shirt and her favorite kitten pajama bottoms. Mrs. Collingwood had then dosed her with paracetamol and tucked her into the bed in “her” bedroom with hot water bottles pressed against her stomach and lower back. Molly sent John a text and was soon asleep.

Molly next surfaced when Mycroft sat beside her on the bed and leaned over to kiss her forehead. She blinked several times to bring the room into focus and then met his eyes, feeling momentarily confused about why she was in that bedroom. He ran a finger along her hairline and around the rim of her ear. “How are you feeling?”

Molly suddenly remembered what had happened and twisted her lips. “Better for the moment, but the cramps aren’t going away yet.” Her brow furrowed. “Don’t worry, Mycroft. It’s completely normal and I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

Mycroft sat up straighter and glanced around the room. “Why are you in here and not in our room?”

“Well, I thought you might …”

“I might what?”

“Be a bit squeamish … you know, _ewww.”_

Mycroft gave an exasperated huff. “I may not have had much first-hand experience with a menstruating woman, but the sight of blood doesn’t bother me. Besides, this isn’t the first time you’ve had your period around me.” He stood and then sighed when he saw Molly’s blush. “Oh, grow up, Molly.” It was said teasingly, but she also heard an underlying serious note.

Molly’s first reaction was to want to punch him, but she quickly realized _she_ was the one reacting poorly, not Mycroft. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a shower and then we can talk about what you might like to eat.” He raised his brows. “Would you like me to freshen your hot water bottles first?”

“No, I need to get up.” Molly pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. “Go have your shower.” She stared at her feet, feeling like she’d been both off-putting and ungracious. “But thanks for the offer.” She looked up when Mycroft came back and sat beside her.

“I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well,” he said, putting his arm around her and cocking his head so he could see her face. “How would you like to have supper upstairs while watching one of your favorite films? I promise not to say anything about the poor plot or bad acting.”

Molly elbowed him, but gently. “And no sighing or huffing … or rolling your eyes.”

“Well, certainly not when you’re looking.” He gave her a warm smile. “Is that a plan?”

“Yes, thank you.” When Molly’s eyes met his, she felt herself tear up and blinked rapidly trying to force them back. “I love you.”

“I know.” He gave her a brief kiss. “Even when you want to hit me.”

Mycroft did end up convincing Molly to sleep in their bedroom, but she insisted on spreading a dark bath sheet under her. “Are you expecting a flood?”

 _“Mycroft!”_ Molly flushed, embarrassed despite herself. “It’s heavier this time.”

He got into bed and scooted over to slide an arm under her. “I don’t understand why you’re worrying about a little blood so much more than about semen.”

 _“Oh, god._ Let’s not talk about it, OK?”

They were silent for quite a while and Molly had fallen into a light doze. “I understand that having sex can be helpful in relieving cramps. An orgasm uses up some of the excess prostaglandins that cause your uterus to contract. Plus, the release of endorphins can make you feel better.”

Molly had stiffened as Mycroft went on, but suddenly relaxed and raised herself onto an elbow. “Did you google that?”

He’d been staring at the ceiling, but turned to look at her. “It was included among ways to relieve menstrual-related cramping.”

Molly fell back onto her pillow. “I can’t believe you’d even consider that.” When he didn’t say anything further, she turned to settle on her side and shifted the hot water bottle lower on her stomach. After a few moments, Mycroft moved into their spooning position, slid his arm around her waist, and nuzzled her hair aside to kiss her neck.

“Good night, Molly.”

“Um, Mycroft …?”

* * * * * * * *

Another week passed without any unusual incidents. On the Thursday, Mycroft let himself into a quiet house. Molly had gone to the pub after work to meet Lestrade and the Watsons – and possibly Sherlock if he deigned to show up.

He placed his briefcase on his desk, then poured himself a whisky and sank tiredly into a chair by the fireplace. He took a sip of his drink, then closed his eyes and dropped his head against the back of the chair. It had been a difficult day, but one he deemed ultimately successful in that the people of London had gone about their daily lives without having to know how close the dragons had come to wreaking so much havoc. He took another sip of whisky, wishing Molly was there. He’d become accustomed to having her in his life, to knowing he didn’t have to do his living alone, to _loving_ her.

Mycroft straightened abruptly, hearing the chime from the hall that signaled the opening of the front gate. He set his drink aside and went to welcome Molly home.


	20. Perhaps There Was Something In The Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Molly finally spend an evening out ... whether they like it or not ... with an extremely satisfying outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly says a bad word ... two (and a half!) times.  
> A sex scene gets a bit steamy (I hope!), but is mature, not explicit.  
> The names of the dinner party guests are made up and are not based on any actual person.

“Mycroft,” Molly whispered gently by his ear and lightly touched the back of his hand, trying not to startle him awake. Then again, “Mycroft …”

Mycroft had been in crisis mode for three days. He hadn’t come home at all Tuesday night. She only knew he’d been home Wednesday night because he woke her when he was leaving again at 5:30 the next morning. And now he’d fallen asleep at his desk, head on his folded arms. She didn’t know what time he’d arrived but it had obviously been after she went to bed around midnight. She was having trouble sleeping without him and had come down to make herself a milky drink, then saw the light in the study. 

Mycroft needed to be in bed. Molly ran her hand over his head, cupped his neck and whispered his name just a bit louder. She had to jerk back to avoid his head hitting her chin when he abruptly sat up, blinked a few times and licked his lips. His face was paler than usual and the skin under his eyes was dark.

“Molly –” Mycroft had to stop to clear his throat. “You shouldn’t be up so late. You have to go to work in the morning.”

“I was making some hot cocoa.” Her fingers caressed his neck. “Would you like a cup?”

He seemed to be considering it, but then glanced down at himself. “I really need a wash,” he said, thumbing his pocket watch open, “and I have to leave again in a few hours.”

Molly backed up when he moved to stand, then walked with him to the bottom of the stairs. “Would you drink some cocoa if I bring it up to you?”

“Since you’re already making it, I’ll take a cup. Thank you, my dear.” Molly rested her palms on Mycroft’s chest and lifted toward him, but he pulled his head back. “I don’t think you’d enjoy kissing me. My mouth tastes foul.”

“Don’t be silly.” She slid her hands around his neck and he gave in. After several moments, she pulled back and pushed against his chest. “Go on – take your shower. I’ll be up in a few minutes.” She watched until he reached the landing, seeing the weariness he was unable to hide. When she returned to the bedroom, he was still in the shower so she dealt with the clothes he’d left in a pile on the bench in his dressing room – a sure sign of just how tired he was.

They drank their cocoa in the sitting area, then Molly urged him to get into bed on his stomach. His forehead creased, but he did as she asked. After she’d turned off all the lights other than her bedside lamp, she folded the covers to the foot of the bed, then climbed up and straddled his hips. He lifted his head off the pillow to look over his shoulder. “Molly – it’s after 3 a.m. You need to sleep.”

Molly slid her hands up his back and pressed gently against his shoulders. “Let me … please.” He sighed, but dropped his head onto the pillow, and she put all her weight into massaging his shoulders and shoulder blades. She pressed her thumbs into his neck muscles, slowly shifting further down his body along his spine and lower back, and he groaned as the tension left his muscles. She continued with less pressure down his left thigh, calf and foot, deliberately keeping her touch as clinical as possible, then moved to his right leg. She slowly worked her way back up to his shoulder blades, dug into his shoulder muscles again, then gave some attention to each upper arm. She finally lowered her head by his ear and whispered, “Have I missed any tense spots?” She suppressed a chuckle when he just grunted what sounded like a negative. She crawled off of him, pulled the covers up and settled them over his shoulders. The only response to her whispered “good night” was soft, even breathing. _Mission accomplished._

Molly carefully turned off her lamp, then settled beside Mycroft without touching him. She knew he’d been dealing with international crises for many years, but this was the first time since they’d been together that she’d witnessed the effects on him. She didn’t know if he was coming home simply to touch base with her, and, if so, whether doing that put an extra level of stress on him. He hadn’t told her any details about the current crisis, but as the days of August passed, news reports and newspaper headlines had focused more and more on sensational stories about a new threat of a nuclear arms buildup in the so-called “Far East.”

Molly almost slept through Mycroft leaving, but she somehow heard the soft click of the bedroom door. She hurried down the hall, shoving her hair out of her face, and ran down the stairs. He was already in the foyer, about to take his umbrella in hand, when he heard Molly’s bare feet slap the hardwood floor as she jumped off the last step and came to a stop right in front of him. Mycroft’s lips quirked as he tucked some hair she’d missed behind her ears. “I didn’t mean to wake you, my dear.”

“Won’t you let me make you some breakfast?”

“I’ll have something at the office. You have plenty of time to go back to bed for a while.” Molly felt at a loss to help him in any meaningful manner, and Mycroft could read that frustration on her face. He cupped her neck and bent to kiss her. “I hope to be home at a reasonable hour tonight.” He studied her expression for a moment, then lowered his head for a second kiss that deepened until Molly moaned and he had to force himself to pull back. “I’m sorry, darling, but I have to go.” He shifted to grab his umbrella, gave her another brief kiss, then turned to the door. 

Molly followed and called after him just as he reached for the car door. “You take good care of my husband today -- you hear me?”

Mycroft gave her a quick smile and was gone.

* * * * * * * * 

“So ... a result -- not exactly the optimal one we’d likely have had if they’d pushed through all of your recommendations, but a position that allowed the PM to declare it a diplomatic victory.”

“The result isn’t completely unsatisfactory,” Mycroft paused, lips pursed, “but we’ll be back here again in, I believe, about eight months.”

“I wish you were wrong,” Lady Smallwood took a sip of whisky, then gave Mycroft a level look. “We’ll face that when the time comes. Now – onto another matter entirely … your recent marriage.”

Mycroft sipped his drink and looked at her without expression, waiting.

“You’ve kept it all very close, even for you, Mycroft.” She paused, then tilted her head to study him more intently, but could read nothing on his face. “I would like to meet Mrs. Holmes.”

“I’m sure you’ve read her file.”

“Mycroft, I’m not talking about confirming her bona fides. I’d like to meet the woman who caused you to get a private life.” She clicked her tongue when she met his eyes. “I’m aware that ‘private’ is the operative word there, but we’ve known each other for twenty years and you must permit me to be a little curious.” She arched a brow. “Bring her to dinner?”

“Of course, Lady Smallwood,” he said evenly. “I’m sure my wife would be delighted to meet you.”

“I can see how pleased _you_ are at the prospect.” She smiled wryly. “Shall I make it a dinner party? This will be your wife’s ‘coming out’ so to speak.” Her smile faded at the cool look in Mycroft’s eyes. “I didn’t mean that unkindly, Mycroft, but the PM made a comment the other day about your mystery lady. Dinner at my home would be a relatively relaxed environment for Mrs. Holmes to be presented to him.” She arched a brow and smiled. “I do think it’s time, don’t you?”

The muscle in Mycroft’s jaw tightened before he forced his mouth to relax. “As you wish.”

* * * * * * * * 

Anthea was at her desk answering emails when Mycroft came through the office, greeted her rather abruptly she thought, then shut his door with a definite snap. _Oh, dear._ He should have been in a better mood seeing as how an all-out arms race had just been avoided.

Ten minutes later, Anthea tapped on Mycroft’s door before entering, then placed a cup of tea by his hand. She was surprised that he appeared to be at ease, leaning back in his chair, hands draped over its arms, eyes closed. She hesitated to disturb him, but needed to confirm what response he wanted on certain emails. “Sir?” Mycroft slowly opened his eyes and fixed them on Anthea. _Like chips of ice._ “Was there a problem with completing the agreement?”

“Other than knowing we’ll be back here, handling the same crisis -- though potentially further escalated -- in less than a year, no.” Mycroft sat up, ran a hand over his face, then stared at Anthea again with what she could only describe as a brooding look. Anthea took a seat, crossed her legs and waited. Mycroft sighed and picked up his pen, fingers turning it in circles. Anthea wondered if he realized the pen was a tell – that his fiddling with it generally meant he felt edgy about something and was trying not to show it. “Lady Smallwood wants to meet Molly,” he said, casually, “and she wants to do so at a dinner party at her home with the PM in attendance.”

 _Oh._ “Is that a problem?”

Mycroft’s eyes met Anthea’s and he raised his brows. “You’ve come to know Molly pretty well, I believe. How do you think she’ll react to the thought of being paraded before those people simply to satisfy their curiosity about our relationship?” He let out a long breath and tossed the pen on his desk. _A decision._ “I’m not concerned about their reaction to Molly. Not only can she handle herself, but what they think means bugger all to me. I just don’t want Molly to believe she’s been used somehow – and likely against me.” He gave Anthea an incredulous look. “Molly actually believes _she_ needs to protect _me.”_

Anthea looked thoughtful. “What I think Molly will worry most about is what to wear.”

“That doesn’t matter –”

“Yes it does,” she interrupted, then quickly added. “Sir. You would care if Molly thought she was dressed inappropriately. She’d feel she’d let you down.” She hesitated, then continued, “I could offer to go shopping with Molly. I think she’d be relieved by that once you tell her about the dinner.”

Mycroft studied Anthea’s anxious expression for several moments, then gave her a brief smile. “All right, but try not to change her style too much. It may be a bit … quirky at times, but that’s part of what makes Molly Molly.”

Anthea grinned at him. “Understood, sir.”

_____ 

Molly had reacted calmly when he asked her about going to Lady Smallwood’s dinner party. “So, other than your mother’s party, the first time we will have appeared in public as a couple in more than a year together will be to dine with the Prime Minister?”

Mycroft studied her face for a few moments, then his lips quirked. “Not good?”

“Oh, no – I’ve always dreamed of dining with the PM.” Molly rolled her eyes. “So where and when?” Before he could answer, her eyes widened with a touch of panic. “And what do I _wear?”_

“About that …”

So Molly found herself after lunch Saturday in the dressing room of yet another dress shop, while Anthea called instructions from outside the door. “Try the silver one first!” Molly rolled her eyes, but did as she was told.

“No … no, no. I’m not liking this.”

“Let me see.”

“There’s no point – I’m not wearing it.”

Anthea sighed loudly. “Then try the midnight blue.” A minute or so of rustling was followed by silence. “Molly?” The only response was a light humming noise. “What is it? May I see?”

Molly opened the door and Anthea drew a deep breath. “Oooooh, Molly. You look fantastic!” Anthea took her arm and pulled her out of the dressing room and across the shop to stand before an extremely large floor mirror. Molly stared at herself, looking uncertain. Anthea had her walk away, turn and come back. By that time, the shop manager and a sales girl had joined them and all agreed she had to take the dress. 

Molly started to smile, then laughed in delight.

* * * * * * * *

A week later, Molly slipped her pearl earrings on, tucked a stray hair into her neat chignon, then backed up to look at herself in the mirror. The midnight blue cocktail dress had vintage style -- a flattering sweetheart bodice with spaghetti straps, closely fitted midriff, and full-circle skirt falling to the center of her knees, its volume emphasized by a light-weight crinoline, giving her a classic A-line silhouette. The satin’s sheen was muted by a sheer over layer, its dotted mesh continuing over the bodice and bare skin of her upper chest and back and ending in thin satin bands around the base of her throat and top of each shoulder. The dress was delicate and dreamy and it made her feel sexy, but in a _classy_ way – well, if “classy” included her wanting to rip Mycroft’s suit off him and wrestle him to the floor, she thought with a smirk. She stepped into matching heels, grabbed her clutch, then headed toward the stairs.

Mycroft was already in the hall outside his study when Molly arrived at the landing and started down the stairs. He turned to watch her, and she smiled when that certain gleam came into his eyes, proving he did indeed notice what she was wearing and occasionally reacted to it. He walked over to take her hand, then made a twirling motion with his free hand. Molly did a full turn, then stopped in front of him with raised brows.

“Perfect,” he said, kissing the back of her hand in dramatic fashion, surprising a laugh out of her. He took her cream-satin wrap, swung it around her shoulders and fastened the jeweled clip at her throat, then offered her his arm.

Molly smoothed her fingers along the finely woven wool of his jacket and took his hand. “You look very handsome, Mr. Holmes.”

When Walter pulled to a stop under the impressive portico of Lady Smallwood’s home – estate, more like – Molly drew a long breath and let it out slowly, then took the hand Mycroft offered as she stepped out of the car. A butler let them in, but their hostess crossed the foyer to greet them. Mycroft made the introduction and Lady Smallwood took Molly’s hand before ushering them into a large drawing room that at first seemed full of people, although Molly knew the dinner party was only for twelve. 

Lady Smallwood took them around, introducing Molly as Mycroft’s wife without further explanation. Mycroft had briefed her on who the others were, and on meeting them Molly formed quick opinions that were subsequently proved to be true.

Prime Minister Charles Hadley and Mrs. Margaret Hadley – he looked like a toothy politician soliciting votes; she looked a bit snooty.

The Home Secretary The Right Honorable Janice Phillips and her husband, Randall Phillips - he looked the snooty one; she looked serious and had a kind smile.

The Secretary of State for Transport, The Right Honorable Sir Laurence Cleeves, and Lady Tiffany Cleeves – _“Tiffany?”_ … 20 years his junior, obviously loved diamonds; he looked puffed up with his assumed importance.

The Right Honorable Michael Broughton, MP for the Cities of London and Westminster, and Lady Elizabeth Broughton – both looked a bit wet and their smiles lacked feeling.

And to even up the numbers, a good friend of Lady Smallwood’s, the actor William Haverton … a 90s TV star/heartthrob, now graying handsomely and inspiring a new generation of fans with his starring role in a television fantasy drama that currently enjoyed world-wide success –- _yummy_ …oh, yes, very yummy indeed.

When Lady Smallwood introduced William – call me “Bill” - Molly’s heart sped up just a bit when he kissed her hand even more dramatically than Mycroft had done earlier that evening. Molly glanced at Mycroft, who arched his brows over amused eyes. Yes, he was definitely amused.

Molly noticed all the politicians seemed to brace themselves at Mycroft’s approach and kept looking at him out of the corner of their eyes. Mycroft, the self-proclaimed holder of a minor position in the British government – _yeah, right, a bloody civil servant,_ she thought, suppressing an eye roll – caused what looked like a classic flight or fight response and “flight” definitely seemed to be their preferred choice, but one they couldn’t put into action. Molly realized her back had automatically straightened in an attempt to mirror Mycroft’s elegant posture and she deliberately brought her shoulders back a tad and kept her chin level to stand as tall as possible. The politicians’ spouses all looked a touch sour-faced to Molly, but if one’s spouse was obviously outclassed and overpowered by Mycroft Holmes, perhaps they were right to resent it a bit.

They were offered drinks, and Mycroft took a glass of white wine, while Molly had a non-alcoholic fizzy lime. As the guests mingled, chatting about nothing in particular, Molly stayed at Mycroft’s side, but she eventually allowed herself to be drawn away by Mrs. Hadley. She glanced back at Mycroft after several minutes and was riveted by the look of him – his expression impassive, eyes cool, standing with that slight backward lean, weight on his heels, shoulders back, hands in his trouser pockets, head tilted as he listened to something Lady Smallwood was saying. The Ice Man ... and she would get to thaw him out later. _Dear god._

_____ 

“She’s lovely, Mycroft.”

“And intelligent and accomplished and trustworthy and dependable and loyal and independent and kind and funny and occasionally a bit macabre,” Mycroft replied, mildly. “That she also happens to be lovely is simply the cherry on top, as some people would put it.”

They both were watching Molly talk to the PM’s wife across the room, but Lady Smallwood had turned to Mycroft in disbelief during that smooth response. “Good lord, Mycroft … you actually _care_ for her.”

Mycroft turned a hard look on her. “Indeed. I suggest that fact be kept in mind by you and any others who might consider taking a special interest in Molly.”

Lady Smallwood felt chilled as Mycroft stared at her a moment longer, then broke eye contact and strolled in his usual elegant manner across the room to hover at his wife’s shoulder. Molly gave him a quick upward glance, looking curious, but turned back without pausing in what she was saying.

_____ 

They went into dinner and Molly found that she was seated across from Mycroft, with Randall Phillips to her left and Sir Laurence to her right. Not much chance of talking to her husband then.

When the main course had been served, Molly carefully toed off her right heel and pushed it to rest against her other foot. Mycroft was talking with Mrs. Hadley who was sitting on his right. Molly slowly slid her foot across the rug until she touched his shoe, then slid her toes up its side and under the edge of his trouser leg. She was watching him out of the corner of her eye as she talked with Mr. Phillips on her left so she noticed when Mycroft’s head turned a fraction toward her before turning back to his dining partner. Molly continued to chat about, of all things, the Proms that had been broadcast the evening before, while her toes smoothed over Mycroft’s shin. She suddenly realized she’d slid her hips almost too far forward on her chair and she was in danger of causing an embarrassing incident if she didn’t retreat. She had to hold on to the edge of the table to gain enough balance to shift back in her chair. She carefully found her shoe and slipped it on, relieved she hadn’t got caught … and also hoping Mycroft hadn’t found her maneuver too silly for words.

She was about to turn to Sir Laurence when Lady Tiffany spoke to her from where she sat at Mycroft’s left. “Mrs. Holmes, I understand you’re a … mortician.” The last word was said with an undertone of distaste – at least to Molly’s ears.

“Oh no, Lady Tiffany,” Molly replied cheerfully. “I’m a pathologist at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. Granted, part of my job does require me to work in the morgue.” Molly bit into a juicy strawberry and smiled in appreciation.

Lady Tiffany persisted. “The morgue? So you deal with dead people like a mortician?”

Molly tilted her head, thoughtfully. “Well, no. I don’t pretty up dead bodies for public viewing. A mortician gets the body from Bart’s _after_ I’ve cut it up – or one of the other pathologists has.” She took a sip of wine, ignoring several horrified gasps from around the table. Her eyes met Mycroft’s and then slid away when he gave her a stern glance.

“Molly means that her position requires her to perform post-mortems.”

Molly glanced around the table with an innocent expression. “I do beg your pardon. I assumed you knew what a pathologist does.” She turned to Lady Smallwood, wide-eyed, and grimaced playfully. “What an unappetizing topic to be discussed at your dinner table, Lady Smallwood. I do apologize.”

Mycroft looked at their hostess and saw a flicker of amusement cross her features. “Not at all, Mrs. Holmes. You simply answered another guest’s questions and with a decided lack of any unappetizing details.” She gave Molly a small grin, eyes twinkling.

Conversation returned to muted talk between dining partners, then Mr. Broughton spoke up in a quiet moment. “Mrs. Holmes, is it true that you’ve often worked with Mr. Holmes’ brother on some of his more sensational cases?”

Molly glanced across the table, and Mycroft braced himself. “Oh, indeed,” she said, nonchalantly. “Sherlock is often in the lab or morgue during the investigations he works on with Scotland Yard, as are a couple of their detective inspectors. At other times, Sherlock is working in the lab on various experiments that anyone interested in medicine or science would surely find absorbing.” Molly paused, grinning mischievously. “At least, I certainly do, so I’m happy to assist him when called upon.” She glanced around the table and continued casually, “Then there are the body parts I occasionally arrange for Sherlock to have.” She met Mycroft’s eyes when gasps again ran around the table. Mycroft took a sip of wine to hide an amused grin. Molly again looked around the table, picked up her wine glass and swirled the contents. “For example, there was the head I got him so he could study the rate of coagulation of saliva after death.”

“Oh my god” came faintly from the PM’s wife. 

“I know … it’s amazing, isn’t it? Obviously, some of your positions allow you to observe Mycroft in action so you must be used to being awed by his vast intellect and the great benefits he provides in service to our country and beyond, while in my position I get to witness Sherlock’s unique experiments and their great benefits to medical and scientific studies.” Molly took a sip of wine and looked around the table again. “Don’t you find genetics fascinating? I mean, think about it. Two such brilliant, analytical minds, such immense brain power, and they’re brothers.” Molly shook her head, sighing. “And both gorgeous to boot … although I believe that, as he does with brain power, Mycroft edges Sherlock out in looks,” she paused, then grinned around the table, “but perhaps that’s a wife’s prejudice.” 

Lady Smallwood and Bill Haverton laughed unrestrainedly and a few others joined in, politely, while Molly looked across the table at Mycroft, who had a pained expression on his face. “Definitely wifely prejudice,” he said, with a brief smile around the table.

The Prime Minister spoke up. “Obviously, Mrs. Holmes, you are a proud wife and sister-in-law.”

“Oh, yes, Prime Minister,” Molly replied, without amusement. “I’m certainly proud to be part of the Holmes family.”

Mycroft cleared his throat and touched the serviette to his mouth, but before he could speak, Lady Smallwood remarked smoothly. “Well, Mrs. Holmes – Molly, if you’ll permit me …” She returned Molly’s smile and nod. “Mycroft obviously has a champion in you.”

Lady Tiffany tried once more to catch Molly out. “Yes, some force of nature certainly brought two rare birds together,” she said, looking around the table, chuckling.

Molly gave her a delighted smile, completely unruffled by the attempted insult. “Oh, that’s so kind of you. Most days I wonder how I could have been so fortunate as to catch the attention of Mycroft Holmes. ‘A force of nature’ … I like that.”

_____

When Molly returned from the loo later in the evening, her path across the drawing room took her right behind the sofa on which Mycroft was sitting at the opposite end from the Prime Minister. She trailed her fingers along the sofa back and paused behind Mycroft to wait for a break in their conversation. Mycroft finally tilted his head around and raised his brows questioningly, and Molly gave the PM an apologetic smile then bent to whisper oh-so-sweetly in Mycroft’s ear. “I want to fuck you till the cows come home.” Her eyes met his for an electric moment that sent a jolt to her core, then she smiled again at the PM and casually strolled across the room to take a seat by Lady Smallwood. 

Molly could only hope Mycroft experienced the same sort of guilty thrill that she had when he’d dropped the F-bomb the first time they had sex.

While Molly didn’t want to do anything to embarrass Mycroft, she knew most of these people had wanted to inspect her and had probably hoped to find fault with her as a way to come out ahead of Mycroft, since they couldn’t achieve that otherwise. She therefore had no problem with trying to enjoy herself just a bit and to give Mycroft cause to look back on the evening with something more than the bored irritation he’d probably expected.

She looked his way and shivered when she met his eyes. Even from that distance, they appeared to be focused on her like a laser. The other guests had no idea how incredibly hot it was to be the focus of Mycroft’s attention. Holding his eyes, Molly deliberately ran her forefinger from the corner of her right eye to the corner of her mouth and drew the tip of it between her lips. His gaze narrowed and Molly flushed and glanced away, unintentionally meeting Lady Smallwood’s eyes. The older woman raised her brows and grinned discreetly, and Molly smiled back a bit sheepishly.

_____

The Prime Minister and his wife were the first to leave. Lady Smallwood had given Mycroft a look, and he and Molly delayed their departure until everyone other than Bill Haverton had left. 

“Molly, I want to thank you for coming tonight,” Lady Smallwood said, taking the younger woman’s hand in both of hers. “I will admit to asking you out of curiosity, but it’s truly been a pleasure to meet you.” She released Molly’s hand and turned to Mycroft. “She’s a delight, Mycroft. How the two of you got together, I’ll never know, but I hope you’ll always endeavor to deserve her.”

“Thank you for an interesting evening, Lady Smallwood,” Mycroft said, taking Molly’s hand and threading their fingers together. He glanced down at her with a dry smile. _“Unexpectedly_ interesting.”

Bill Haverton stepped forward to shake Mycroft’s hand, then bent to kiss Molly’s cheek. “A delightful evening indeed, Molly.”

Molly took hold of Mycroft’s forearm and fanned her face with her free hand, fluttering her lashes at the famous actor. “Oooh, Bill ... take pity on your adoring public.” The others were still chuckling when Molly and Mycroft said good night and stepped out into the cool night air. As they walked to the car, she glanced up at him. “Are the two of them …?”

“Yes, for almost six months, but they’ve been very discreet.”

On their way home, under cover of darkness, Mycroft slid his hand across the small gap between their bodies and under the hem of her dress to curve around her knee. He didn’t look at her and Molly stifled a gasp as he slid his hand higher up her leg, continued past the edge of her thigh-high stocking and came to rest on her bare upper thigh. The skirt of her dress was full enough that his move wouldn’t have been too noticeable even in daylight, but in the dark there was no way Walter would be able to see what was going on in the backseat. Mycroft did no more than lightly rub his fingers over her skin, but their length meant the tips brushed just where the most sensitive skin of her inner thigh started. After a couple of minutes of that sweet torture, Molly wanted to grab his hand and force it higher, to straddle his thigh, to fall back on the seat and pull him over her ... to do _something_ to relieve the ache. She did nothing though, other than to concentrate on keeping her breathing even and inaudible.

Finally, though, she’d had enough of slowly going out of her mind and reached blindly to run her hand up his thigh to his fly and mold her fingers around his hardened flesh. Mycroft turned a groan into a cough, slowly slid his hand out from under her dress, and carefully removed hers from his body. He then threaded their fingers together and dropped their clasped hands on the car seat between them. Molly leaned her head against his upper arm, and they rode in a charged silence the rest of the way home.

They didn’t immediately go into the house when Walter dropped them off, and those silent seconds on the front step caused the little hairs on Molly’s neck to rise. She felt skittish, nervously on edge, as a tense silence continued between them. This Mycroft with a hard hand against the small of her back didn’t feel like the Mycroft she knew so intimately. She flinched when he reached past her to unlock the door, then urged her through the door before him.

Molly started to turn to face him, but Mycroft had already swung her around, pushed her wrap off her shoulders to the floor, and backed her against the wall, both hands grasping her waist and lifting her toward him. “Mycro-” He covered her mouth, swallowing the rest of his name, letting the desire that had been building all evening overwhelm them, exploring each other’s mouth as if it was new territory to be discovered, sharing each other’s breaths rather than separating. Molly slid her arms up his back, clutching at his shoulders, wanting to get closer, to be absorbed by him, then abruptly pulling her mouth away. “Please, Mycroft, please …” He suddenly realized what she wanted and drew back, giving Molly room to wrap a leg around him. He slid his hands to her thighs and lifted until she wrapped the other leg around his hips, then pressed her back against the wall, grinding their centers together as he claimed her lips again. Molly began to tremble and rub herself against him, moaning against his lips until Mycroft straightened and slid them along the wall and through the opening to the music room. He broke away, breathing raggedly, pushed the door closed and carried her to the sofa, stretching her out, then quickly shrugged out of his jacket and waistcoat and toed his shoes off, eyes glued to hers. Molly simply stared back, feeling too drugged to think what to do until she suddenly thought to kick off her heels. Mycroft stepped closer and, still meeting her gaze, held his right wrist out to her. Molly’s eyes lowered to it, then she carefully reached up to remove the cuff link and place it on the coffee table. He held out his left wrist and she repeated the action. Mycroft had pulled off his tie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt when Molly suddenly couldn’t take any more and held her arms out, whispering a slurred _“ohgodmycroftplease.”_ He took her hands and tugged her to her feet, bracing her against him as he reached around to unzip her dress and pull it over her head. Her trembling worsened and her hands clutched weakly at his sides. “It’s too much, too much …” 

Mycroft paused, looking more closely at Molly, then picked her up and reached with one hand to gather several pillows at one corner of the sofa, before setting her down with her head raised against them. “Hold on for just a minute, darling … I’ll be right back.” He was back in less time than that and helped her sit up again, then dropped to his knees and held a glass against her lips. She took a sip, and another, then grimaced. She didn’t particularly like brandy, but she could feel its warmth spreading and bringing her thoughts back into focus. She took a couple more sips, then handed the snifter to Mycroft. “I’m all right.” 

He drained the rest of it, then placed the glass on the table, and sat on the edge of the sofa beside her. “Do you want to go –” He huffed a laugh when Molly slid her hand around his neck and tugged him to her. “Mmm, guess not,” he mumbled against her mouth, then wrapped his hands around her head and poured all the desire he was feeling into his kiss, running his tongue along the seam of her lips, then pushing deep when she opened to him. She ran her hands down his chest to his waistband, slid the button free and carefully lowered his zipper. He leaned back to give her room and she reached to spread the opening wide, but the angle was difficult for her to reach. Mycroft stopped her and quickly stood to strip off the rest of his clothes. 

Molly ran her eyes down him and started trembling again. “Mycroft … just _fuck_ me, please.” His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and that quickly the danger was back. She looked up, wide-eyed, as he loomed over her, then took hold of her knees and swung her legs off the sofa. He sat beside her and lifted her onto his lap, running his hand up her leg and between her thighs at the same time that he began kissing her again. Molly slid her arms around his neck and opened her legs, moaning as he pushed her knickers aside and slid two fingers into her slick center, probing gently, then more firmly. Molly lifted into his caress, wanting more, then broke from their kiss, panting. “Stop fooling around … just fuc-” He took her lips again and kept hold of her as he shifted until she was stretched out under him. He raised up on his knees and slid his hands under her hips to slide her knickers down and then lifted her legs together in front of him and drew the knickers up and over her feet. He lowered her legs on either side of his thighs again, slid his hands under her, pulling her toward him until he could lift her backside to rest on his knees, then took hold of himself and aligned their bodies before pressing forward until he was fully seated in her. Molly wiggled until she got her right leg free and slung her foot over the sofa back, then planted her other foot on the coffee table and tried to lift him. 

He raised his head and took a deep breath. “Patience, darling.”

“No!” Molly hissed, gritting her teeth in frustration. “Mycroft, move now -- please.”

He slowly withdrew, then pressed into her again and held, at the same time that he ran his hands up Molly’s sides and flattened them over her breasts, catching her lace-covered nipples between his first two fingers of either hand and then gently pinching them between thumbs and forefingers. Molly moaned and tried to buck again.

Mycroft released her nipples, braced his hands against the seat of the sofa, slowly withdrew, then with the next thrust he drove into her to the hilt, pulled almost all the way out, then drove into her again, their flesh slapping together forcefully as Molly braced her foot against the coffee table to raise herself into his thrusts, again and again, over and over, until she dropped her leg from the sofa back and pressed the sole of her foot against his lower ribs to change the angle, but it still wasn’t enough. Mycroft quickly shifted his weight onto one arm, breaking their rhythm long enough to slide his hand between them, using his fingers to give her the extra friction she needed. He added more force to his thrusts, lifting higher into her, and then Molly gasped sharply and arched upward against him, clutching at his hips, her head pressing hard against the sofa pillows. Mycroft drove into her and held deep, dropping his head into the crook of her neck, breathing heavily as she pulsed around him, then he raised up again and thrust once, twice, and then on the third groaned from his depths when he erupted and poured himself into her, then quivered when an aftershock drained him further still.

He tried to hold most of his weight off of her, but she wrapped her arms and legs tighter around him until he collapsed onto her, sighing heavily against her neck. Molly’s breath hitched and she took several deep breaths, regaining control, then ran the bottoms of her feet down the backs of his legs and hooked her ankles over his calves. A quiver went through him as her feet passed over the backs of his knees, which were just a bit ticklish. She felt stuck to him, like her flesh had melted into his and they were literally now inseparable. They were still joined, and Molly slid her feet up to press her soles against his backside and hold him in her. She wasn’t ready to let him go, and he seemed fine with that.

They drifted to sleep with no intention of doing so. Molly woke when Mycroft groaned in her ear – not a groan of pleasure, but one with some pain behind it. She tried to move and groaned back at him when she started to straighten her legs. 

“I’m too old for this,” he muttered against her ear.

“It’s not your age,” she said, sleepily kissing his cheek. “A twenty year old would probably be stiff after falling asleep on a sofa in this position.” She slid her hands from his back to the sides of his waist. “Do you need help getting up?”

He planted his hands on either side of her and lifted himself away with a light sucking sound as their flesh separated. He looked from his chest to her breasts. “We desperately need a shower.”

“Mmmm, and that’s just the sweat.”

Mycroft’s eyes met hers and Molly flushed. His lips quirked and he gave her a quick kiss before pushing back onto his knees, grimacing. “It may take two showers.” Molly flushed again, then giggled. He glanced down at her thighs and ran his eyes up her body until their eyes met again. “We should have removed your garter belt. The clips have caused some rather odd looking bruises.”

Molly raised onto her elbows and looked down her body to the mark on his thigh. Her eyes wandered farther and she flushed yet again at her sprawled position. “Um, could we get up, please?”

Mycroft shifted to give her room to sit up, and Molly stretched to retrieve her knickers from the floor, slipped her feet into them and pulled them on, grimacing. _A shower, definitely._ She looked at the clock on the mantel, then turned to Mycroft, wide-eyed. “Good lord, it’s after 4:30. No wonder we’re stiff.” She got up and went to pick up his clothes. “Do you want any of this for the trip upstairs?”

“I don’t think we have to worry about Mrs. C coming in unexpectedly, do you?” He stood and took his clothes from her, stooped to pick up his shoes, then gathered his pocket watch and cuff links from the table and dropped them into a shoe.

Molly picked up her dress and shoes and went out in the hall for her wrap and clutch, then headed for their bedroom. She felt self-conscious walking up the stairs in front of him in nothing more than her underwear – and pearls -- then felt silly about that, considering … well, _everything._

They hurried through their shower, washing each other’s backs, then quickly drying off and putting on pajamas before crawling into bed and settling into their usual spooning position. Molly woke a few hours later when Mycroft nuzzled her neck and asked if the cows had come home yet. Molly laughed and turned to him.

Lazy Sunday morning sex was indeed slow, but satisfying nonetheless, and they both drifted back to sleep afterwards. 

* * * * * * * * 

The weeks passed and for both of them work was its usual mix of routine and stress-filled days, although what constituted “routine” for Mycroft was not that in any sense of the word for anyone who didn’t have the constant weight of trying to keep the country safe from attack on his shoulders.

September changed to October with little notice, and the days continued to be cool and rainy more often than not. Molly hoped for clear weather for their upcoming weekend at The Cottage. 

The Wednesday before their weekend getaway, Molly walked out of her office and went upstairs to meet her friend Kathy. An hour later, she’d left for an early lunch and stopped outside the tube station entrance to call Anthea. “No, I don’t want to _talk_ to Mycroft – I want to _see_ him. Is he available for an early lunch? Right. I’m on my way. Don’t tell him I’m coming, okay? No, I’m taking the tube. No, it’s fine! Anthea … All right, see you shortly.”

Anthea left word with the security guards so Molly gained easy access to Mycroft’s building and Anthea was waiting by the elevator to escort her downstairs. It was Molly’s first visit to Mycroft’s “bunker” office and she wasn’t too impressed with its aesthetics. As for bomb resistance, she figured it rated top scores. Once in the office, Anthea pointed to his door and sat at her desk, leaving Molly to announce herself. She heard her boss say Molly’s name before the door shut and she’d have described his tone as alarmed. Anthea suspected that tone was unwarranted.

_____

Mycroft didn’t immediately look up when Molly tapped on the door and slowly opened it. He was studying a file, but stilled after a couple of moments, and glanced up with a crease between his brows. That crease smoothed out and his eyes widened when he saw her. “Molly!” He was around the desk and had already gripped her hands before she could respond. Molly cocked her head to the side, studying him, because Mycroft didn’t move that fast on the treadmill. She’d have to talk to him about increasing his workout effort.

“Molly,” he said again, squeezing her hands. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

Molly pulled her hands free and instead slid them around his waist, tilting her head back to look up at him. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to take you to lunch. Anthea said you’re free.”

He frowned, looking a bit suspicious. “Did I miss a special date?”

“No, I’m doing something different. Let’s be wild and crazy and actually have lunch together in the middle of a work week.”

“Molly, you know I don’t like to –”

“You choose the place. I don’t care where it is – abandoned building, safe house, underground bunker ...,” she paused, looking around, “though not this one.”

He studied her expression, then tucked some stray hairs behind her left ear. “How about my club?”

“Your club? On the same day that I first invade your bunker? Can your system handle that much stress?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I’ve dealt with worse.” He checked his pocket watch, then pulled out his phone. “Let me call Walter, then we’ll be on our way.”

As they passed through the outer office, Mycroft paused, “Anthea –”

“I’ve got it covered, sir. Enjoy your lunch.”

They left through a side door, which was manned by an armed guard who came to attention as Mycroft swiped his access card. The door opened onto a walled courtyard, and Walter was already there with the car. They drove slowly through solid iron gates, again manned by an armed guard, then pulled onto the street. Molly twisted to look out the back window, then glanced at Mycroft, before turning forward without commenting.

Mycroft took her hand and threaded their fingers. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“Is it so unusual that a wife wants to have lunch with her husband?”

“Meeting for lunch during the week is certainly unprecedented for us.”

“We used to meet for tea.”

“When that was the _only_ way we'd meet.”

“Well, I felt like having lunch with you. It’s finally a beautiful autumn day, we have a weekend away ahead of us, and I must have gone a bit crazy.”

He just hummed in response and said no more as they neared their target. _The Diogenes._ Molly had heard Sherlock and John mention it, but not with any fondness. Apparently, the members were considered a bit odd in their habits. She wasn’t sure what that entailed, but she didn’t believe Mycroft would be involved with anything that was truly … strange.

Walter pulled to the curb and Mycroft helped Molly out of the car. “One thing, my dear – they don’t allow talking in public areas of the club. You have to stay quiet until we reach my room.”

Okay … that was a bit strange, but not in a really _weird_ way.

“Also, don’t be surprised if some of the members stare at you. They generally ignore each other, but a female visitor is still somewhat unusual – and for me to be accompanied by _any_ woman other than Anthea may be a shock for some of the old-timers.”

Molly was starting to feel amused, but figured the reality certainly couldn’t live up to what she was now imagining.

It did. Even her wildest imaginings wouldn’t have thought of including paper shoe covers on the morning-suited staff.

They first went to what Mycroft said was his own room, a large office, then to a much larger room that others could use but that Mycroft had apparently reserved. Filled book cases lined one wall, and more were interspersed around the paneled room, which was brightly lit by sun coming through high windows. It was set up more like drawing room with leather chairs, lots of lamps and side tables.

Mycroft waved her to a chair, then sat across from her, crossed his legs and did his steepled-fingers thing, which Molly found adorable since he was looking at her with warm eyes and wasn’t in his Ice Man persona. “They’ll be bringing our lunch shortly. In the meantime, I think you should tell me why you really wanted to meet me today.”

“I don’t know why you insist that it was more than wanting to have lunch with you.” He just raised his brows, and Molly huffed in annoyance. “You know, Mycroft Holmes, you can be aggravatingly persistent.” She stood to take off her jacket, sat back down, then rolled her eyes. “So what about Dad’s birthday this weekend? I know it’s 77 and not an official milestone like Mummy’s, but we still ought to do something special for him.”

Mycroft looked at her for several moments, then sighed, but he was only delaying further questions. “There will be a family dinner at the house. That’s all he wanted.”

“That’s all he _said_ he wanted. I think he’d secretly enjoy having a bit more of a fuss made. Can’t you think of anything we might do?”

Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door and a staff member pushed a large wheeled cart into the room. Mycroft waved him over. “We’ll serve ourselves. Thank you, Patrick.” When the door closed, Mycroft crossed the room and picked up a low table that he carried back and placed on the floor in front of Molly’s chair, then pulled his chair closer on the other side. He then moved the cart closer to them and removed a folded tablecloth, spread it over the table, then set the table with plates, cups, saucers, and cutlery. He handed Molly a serviette, then dropped one by his plate. 

Molly watched him wide-eyed. “You’ve obviously done this before.”

“Not with a guest. I usually use one of the side tables – not that I eat here very often.”

Lunch was a tender Beef Wellington with a flaky pastry, roasted potatoes, and fresh green beans. There was also a lemon tart to follow. Mycroft served both their plates, then poured the tea and finally sat back down. Molly studied her plate for a moment, before taking a bite of the beef. “Mmmm, this is delicious. To think I thought we might get a quick sandwich.” She grinned at him, then dug in. “I’m absolutely starving.”

“You must have been busy this morning to use up so much energy,” Mycroft said, looking at her under his brows. “You did have a good breakfast today.”

“Well, you know, eating for two,” Molly quipped, before poking a potato in her mouth. She watched Mycroft’s hand as he paused with his fork midway to his mouth, then lowered it to his plate. She kept her eyes on his hands for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet his.

“Molly." He took a quick breath. "Really?”

“Oh yes,” she said, putting her fork down and reaching for her handbag. “I have photographic evidence.” She looked up when Mycroft dropped to a knee in front of her. “Nine weeks, they say. Or rather she says, since my friend Kathy, the sonographer, did the test as a special favor, with Mike’s approval.” She looked down as she located the sonogram and drew it out, offering it to Mycroft. Instead of taking it, he leaned forward and cupped the sides of her head, then gently kissed her before pulling away. “I won’t break, you know.” He kissed her again, more lingeringly. When their lips separated, she waved the image. “Look at him – or her.” When Mycroft took the sonogram, she leaned forward to point out where the eyes, ears, fingers and toes were. “Only an inch long, the size of a grape, and about an ounce in weight.”

Mycroft rubbed his thumb over the image then looked up at Molly. “When did you decide to have this done? I didn’t realize you had any signs of being pregnant.”

“Well, I did and I didn’t. I had that early second period but my system was still erratic and every symptom could easily have been related to coming off the pill. Missing a period in September didn’t seem too unusual, but not having one so far this month did. Plus, my breasts have been more tender than usual.”

“You should have told me so I wasn’t too rough.”

Molly leaned into a kiss. “You’re never too rough, and they were only a little bit tender. Anyway, I called Kathy first thing this morning.” She sat back in her chair and grinned at him. “You know what this means, don’t you.” 

He arched a brow. “Besides the fact that we’re having a baby?”

“It means I very likely got pregnant after Lady Smallwood’s dinner party.” That gleam came into his eyes and she backtracked a bit. “It might not have been that night, but the timing is right, according to Kathy.” Studying his expression, she continued, “And, no … I didn’t discuss our sex life with Kathy. She gave me approximate dates based on the size of the baby, and they fell right on that weekend.”

Mycroft smiled slowly. “I like that.”

“So do I.” Molly watched as he got up, then stood at his urging and sat in his lap when he returned to his chair. “The other good news is we can give a copy of the sonogram to Dad and make his birthday extra special as well." She tilted her head to look up at him. "I don’t want to tell anyone other than family for another month … well, you can tell Anthea if you want and we have to tell Mrs. C - but not until after your parents.” She sighed happily and settled more comfortably on Mycroft’s lap. “Can we just do this for the next –” [she paused to check her watch] “… twenty-five minutes? I’m really not hungry anymore.”

“All right, but if we get caught by the staff, my reputation will be ruined.” He smothered Molly’s laugh with his lips. _Snogging with one’s wife at the Diogenes._ Mycroft wondered if that was a first, then thought about nothing but Molly for the next twenty-four minutes. And thirty-six seconds.


	21. I Can Barely Contain Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Molly spend a weekend with the future grandparents ... in another overly long chapter! Shockingly, they have [mature, not explicit] sex when they get home - ha. 
> 
> (The bit of lyrics are from Sly and the Family Stone’s “I Want to Take You Higher.”)

_“Baby, baby, baby, light my fire … Wanna take you higher …”_

Suppressing a wince at the ghastly lyrics his wife was belting out, Mycroft took a sip of tea and carefully placed the cup back in its saucer before looking across the table at a blank-faced Sherlock. His brother’s cup was frozen midair as he stared at the doorway through which Molly had just left, still singing along with her iPod. _“Boom shaka-laka-laka, boom shaka-laka-laka …”_

Sherlock’s eyes slid to Mycroft’s and he blinked several times before setting his cup down with a clatter. “What the _hell_ has got into Molly?”

Mycroft discarded several possible replies – rude, flippant, the truth – and settled on a partial truth. “She’s excited about seeing our parents.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Mycroft sighed. “As difficult as it may be to believe, brother mine, some people do actually enjoy visiting their family members.”

“Has Molly suffered a recent head injury?”

 _“Sherlock.”_ Mycroft gave his brother a hard look but then heard Molly returning yet again and had to tighten his jaw and bite the inside of his lip against a sudden urge to laugh. Molly had passed on tea in favor of finishing some last minute tasks before they left, but he couldn’t tell that she was actually _doing_ anything and she’d refused his offer of assistance … thank you very much. 

When Molly entered the kitchen, she stopped singing and instead executed a few dance moves to where they were sitting. “Woohoo, I’m going on a road trip with my Holmes boys!”

Mycroft gave in and chuckled softly as he swiveled on his stool. “Come sit down, my dear, and have some tea.” She took his hand and swiftly moved in for a smacking kiss before he could take any defensive action. Ignoring both Sherlock’s muttered “oh god” and the warmth he felt rising in his cheeks, Mycroft shifted to the next stool, slid his cup and saucer over, and reached for a clean cup for Molly. She smiled, but shook her head when he lifted the teapot.

As she turned away, Molly noticed her brother-in-law was staring at her like she’d lost her mind. “Sherlock, don’t be annoying.” She got a glass and went to the refrigerator for some juice, then returned to the table and took the stool Mycroft had vacated. “Why shouldn’t I be happy? Mycroft and I were both able to leave work by 5:30 as planned, you arrived on time, I get to drive us to Surrey … and best of all I’m married to the most wonderful man in the world!” Sherlock gagged dramatically and Mycroft dropped his forehead onto his palm with a pained groan. Molly snorted, “Oh you two …,” then took a long sip of juice. “I’m looking forward to the weekend. Would it do any good for me to ask you to act like you’re enjoying it as well?"

“Probably not.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said sternly, but his eyes held an amused gleam that he didn’t try to hide.

Mrs. Collingwood returned from visiting a friend in hospital just before they were ready to leave at 7 p.m. Molly gave Toby another cuddle before handing him to the housekeeper and following the men to the car. They were buckling their seatbelts when Molly twisted to look at Sherlock where he was sitting behind Mycroft. “Shift yourself over. I don’t want a repeat of last year’s trip.” Sherlock huffed loudly, but moved as instructed.

The trip down was unexpectedly quiet as both brothers focused on their phones, although Mycroft did occasionally make a soft comment to Molly or reply to her remarks. At one point, they’d both been silent for twenty minutes straight and Molly almost missed their bickering. “Are you two playing Candy Crush?” There was no reply from the back seat, but Mycroft glanced up with a crease between his brows. “Never mind.” After another ten minutes of nothing but phone tones and road noise, Molly reached for the radio. “All right if I put on some music? Radio 3?” Again, no answer from Sherlock, but Mycroft gave her a distracted smile. 

Molly decided to enjoy the brothers’ temporary cease fire. She let her window down a bit and glanced at Sherlock in the rearview mirror, his intent expression visible in the light from his phone, then at Mycroft who had a similar expression and posture. She felt a flood of affection for these two complicated men who apparently trusted her enough to put their safety in her hands as she sped through the dark countryside. She took a firmer grip on the steering wheel, slowed to the posted speed limit, and gave her full attention to the road.

It was a quarter of nine when Molly came to a neat stop by Violet’s car and she and Mycroft immediately opened their car doors and stepped out. The two of them had been talking for the last ten miles, but Sherlock was still absorbed by whatever he was doing on his phone. Molly knocked on the rear window and he straightened with a jerk. “We’re here, Sherlock.”

“You do tend to state the obvious, sister dear.” 

Molly ignored the comment and headed for the house, ponytail bobbing, leaving it to the boys to bring in the bags. By the time she rounded the corner, the front door was open and both senior Holmeses were standing on the front step. Molly quickened her pace and shared a hug and kiss with Violet, then giggled when Siger gave her a noisy kiss on the forehead. Having parents-in-law who doted on her was an unexpected bonus.

By 9:15, they’d all gathered around the kitchen table for tea and chocolate cake, or _milk_ and cake in Molly’s case. She set the glass down after emptying half of it in one long swallow and saw the others were looking at her. “What is it?” She wiped her mouth self-consciously, thinking she must have a milk moustache.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but Violet gave Molly a fond smile. “You just look so young, Molly … like a little girl hurrying through breakfast before leaving for school.”

“I’ve always liked milk,” she said, sheepishly, “especially with cake.”

When they were finally moving from the kitchen to the sitting room, Mycroft’s phone beeped and Molly saw the immediate change that came over him – the tense alertness that replaced his previously relaxed posture, the way the half-smile he gave her faded into a detached mask as he turned to go down the hall. They heard the front door close, and Violet looked at Molly, her brow creased in a worried frown. “Does this happen often?”

Molly watched as Sherlock took advantage of the distraction and headed upstairs with his laptop, then turned back to Violet and Siger. She shook her head slowly, looking thoughtful. “Actually, Mycroft hasn’t been working on the weekends as much as he used to.” When the elder couple sat in their favorite chairs, Molly sank onto the sofa, then pressed her lips together and released a long breath through her nose. “I’ve been enjoying having him at home without thinking to ask why.”

“Perhaps he decided to cut back on his overtime since your marriage,” Siger suggested.

“You know he doesn’t have that kind of job, Dad, no matter _what_ he says about occupying a ‘minor position.’ Nothing’s ‘overtime’ for him – he’s always put in whatever hours are required to deal with whatever the situation is, even around-the-clock for days if necessary.” Molly rubbed her temple and gave an annoyed huff. “I can’t believe I’ve been so clueless. _Damn it!_ I never asked him to change anything about his work.”

“Calm down, dear,” Violet said. “You don’t know that he has.”

“Oh, he has,” Molly said, wearily. “I’m sure of it.”

When Mycroft came into the sitting room an hour later, his parents were both reading and Molly was curled up on the sofa, sound asleep. “We tried to get her to go to bed, but she wanted to wait for you awhile longer,” his mother whispered as he went to stand over Molly. “She was upset.”

Mycroft quickly looked at his mother. “Upset? Was she feeling all right?”

“Just concerned about you, I believe,” Violet answered, looking at him curiously. 

Mycroft turned back to Molly and gently ran a hand over her head. She finally roused, blinking up at him sleepily, and then looked at Siger and Violet. “Sorry – guess I was more tired than I thought.” She headed to bed a few minutes later, leaving Mycroft to visit with his parents awhile longer.

When he came upstairs some time later, Mycroft thought Molly was asleep, but she turned her head toward him as soon as he got into bed. “I’m not stupid, Mycroft, but I’ve been stupidly oblivious about you being home more. You’ve done something to make yourself less available on the weekends.”

“Molly –”

“Why did you do that? I never wanted our relationship to interfere with your work.” Molly’s voice rose. “I never asked you to change!”

A sudden bang on the wall was accompanied by Sherlock’s cranky bellow. “Would you two shut up?”

“Sorry, Sherlock,” Molly called back, grimacing, then dropped her voice to a low hiss. “You need to reverse whatever you’ve done.”

“I’m not going to do that.” Mycroft took her hand when she started to protest. “Listen to me, Molly. I haven’t been unavailable - I’ve simply stepped back enough to allow some others to step up and do their jobs properly. My tendency to micromanage has caused certain people to depend on me for every single decision, even the low-level ones they are perfectly capable of handling. So far there’ve been only a few minor hiccups in the process.” 

“And you aren’t worried about a _major_ hiccup occurring that you might have prevented if you were there?”

“I wasn’t always there before. I still monitor what’s occurring on the weekends and go into the office if it’s warranted.” Mycroft let go of Molly’s hand and slipped his arm around her back. She was quiet for several moments, brushing her fingers over the soft cotton of his T-shirt. 

“If you think you needed to change because we’re married, you’re wrong. I love you exactly as you’ve always been and, for god’s sake, I certainly don’t want to domesticate you!” She bit her lip when her voice rose again, then continued in a softer tone. “If your brain isn’t as fully occupied as possible, you’re going to get bored, if you aren’t already. You need much more mental stimulation than you can get from being with me, no matter how we fill the time. And the government needs you to be at the center of things. Those other people don’t have your ability to look at facts and information coming in from every direction and to know how everything fits together, what it all means. You need to be doing the kind of filtering of information and focusing on what’s actually important as only _you_ can do – which, by the way, was Sherlock’s description of what you do when he was in one of his more generous moods.” She sat up and twisted to lean over him until their faces were level. “We need to get some sleep now, but I’m going to bring this up again when we get home.” She studied his expression carefully, looking for any sign of irritation. “Kiss me?”

And Mycroft did so, most thoroughly.

* * * * * * * *

“For god’s sake … what are you wearing?”

Siger grinned at himself in the hall mirror. “Nice, huh?” He straightened the black bow tie, which would have been an understated choice for Siger’s birthday neckwear if it weren’t for the tie’s flashing multi-colored lights. “It was a gift.”

“From Molly, no doubt.”

“However did you guess?” Siger’s lips quirked at Sherlock’s snort, then widened into a real smile when Molly came down the stairs, followed closely by Mycroft. She gave Sherlock a “good morning” peck on the cheek and Siger an affectionate hug. “Happy birthday, Dad!” 

Mycroft had stopped a few feet away. “Yes, happy birthday, Dad,” he echoed, then added with a sideways glance at Molly. “Nice tie.”

Molly reached to straighten Siger’s collar, then slid her arm through his as they walked to the sitting room. “Where’s Mummy?”

“Violet went to get some fresh eggs from the neighbors. She’ll be back shortly.” Siger waited until Molly dropped onto the sofa, then sat beside her, while Sherlock and Mycroft took the chairs facing them. “You’re looking very pretty this morning, my dear.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Molly gave Mycroft her widest, bright-eyed smile. “It’s from all the _love.”_

Sherlock scoffed, and the tips of Mycroft’s ears turned pink. “Molly –”

“What.”

“Please … change the subject – now.”

“Fine.” Molly grinned when Mycroft grabbed a newspaper from the side table and buried his nose in it. Then Sherlock’s phone beeped and he shot up and hurried out of the room. Molly sighed and tilted her head to look at Siger. “I guess it’s just us, then.” She toed off her shoes and curled her legs to the side on the sofa. “So what have you and Mummy been doing since we last talked?” The two of them chatted until Violet returned, then they all headed to the kitchen.

Once breakfast preparations were well underway, Molly slipped upstairs for a few minutes, then returned to sit by Mycroft, handing him a thin package. She looked up, straight into Sherlock’s curious eyes, and shrugged when he raised his brows. When Violet had put the scones in the oven and joined them at the table, Mycroft pushed the package across to Siger. “Here, Dad. Molly and I have another present to give you later, but we’d like you to open your birthday card now.” He slid his arm along the back of Molly’s chair and paused when he saw Sherlock watching her. His brother nodded once, then surprised Mycroft by giving him a small smile.

Siger used a knife to open the package and pulled out the bulky card. A folded piece of white terry cloth fell to the table and he flipped it open and stared at the message on the yellow-trimmed baby bib: _“I obviously get my good looks from my Grandpa!”_ He looked up with watery eyes and stretched to take one of Molly’s hands and one of Mycroft’s in his. “I don’t need any other presents.” He let go and went around the table to hug Molly and kiss her cheek. He shook Mycroft’s hand but changed it to a hug, which Mycroft gingerly returned.

Violet had found the sonogram in Siger’s card and was staring at the image with tears running down her face. She laid it on the table and wrapped her arm around Molly. “Oh you dear, dear girl,” she said, kissing Molly’s forehead. “I almost gave up on this ever happening. When’s the baby due?”

“May fourteenth.” Molly looked past Violet at Sherlock, who’d been remarkably quiet. At the very least, she’d expected some sort of caustic jibe to or about Mycroft. Instead, he calmly returned her look, then waggled his fingers at Violet until she handed him the sonogram. 

While Sherlock studied the image, Molly braced herself, expecting an unemotional recitation of potential risks during the first trimester or arising from her relatively advanced age for a first pregnancy, but he simply said, “He looks to be developing normally.”

 _“He?_ It’s too soon to tell, Sherlock.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s a ‘he,’ Molly.” He glanced at Mycroft. “Right, brother dear?” Mycroft looked at Molly but didn’t say anything. 

“Mycroft?”

“I do believe the baby is a boy, Molly, but Sherlock and I could be wrong.” Sherlock snorted, and Mycroft gave him a hard look, but said nothing more. 

Siger took the sonogram from Sherlock and asked Molly to explain what he was seeing. While Molly pointed out what could be determined at nine weeks, Violet went around the table and took Mycroft in her arms without saying anything. After several moments, he patted her back. “Come on, Mummy. The scones are going to burn.” Violet gasped and hurried to the stove to check on their breakfast. Soon after, everyone else had taken their places at the table and Violet leaned over Molly to place a filled plate in front of her.

“Thank you, Mum–” Molly abruptly pushed her chair back, said “excuse me” and hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Mycroft looked at his mother, then went after Molly, but hesitated before tapping on the bathroom door. “Are you all right, darling?”

“I’m fine, just give me a minute.” Molly finally opened the door, looking a bit pale and holding a wet flannel. “The smell of bacon apparently doesn’t agree with me.” She pressed the flannel against her cheeks, then grimaced. “Of all times for morning sickness to kick in -- if that’s what this is.”

“What can I do?”

“I just need to lie down for a while.” She stopped him when he started to follow her to the bedroom. “Go and eat your breakfast. You can bring me some dry toast after you’re finished, but I’m in no hurry for it.” He kept looking at her, his brow creased in a worried frown. “I’m all right, Mycroft. Tell the others I’m sorry to miss the family breakfast and that I’ll be down a little later.” Mycroft kissed her forehead before turning to go. Molly made her way to their bedroom, shut the door, opened the window for some fresh air, and then stretched out on the bed with a sigh. 

Almost two hours later, Mycroft came in quietly and crossed to the bed, toeing his shoes off and carefully stretching out beside Molly before turning onto his side and folding his arm under his head. She didn’t stir, and Mycroft watched her softly inhale and exhale, then again, the breaths so shallow that her chest barely moved, and then ran his eyes down the gentle curves of her body, the delicate lines of her slim limbs. Molly looked so young, so full of light, so innocent of the world’s evils, and at that moment Mycroft felt the weight of their eleven-year age difference acutely – that all the dark things he’d seen and done, all the dark places he’d been to and that resided in him should have prevented their lives from ever intersecting … that he never should have met her, never put his hands on her, never come to love her. But he’d been inexplicably drawn to her company during the two years they’d shared Sherlock’s secret and she, more incredibly, had likewise been drawn to him so that when she’d unexpectedly -- in truth, perhaps _unintentionally_ \-- offered him a chance to share something more with her, he’d been unable to resist the temptation. Mycroft stared at Molly’s hand resting low on her stomach and experienced a moment of unprecedented panic at the thought of being responsible for a new life that would be even more innocent than Molly. How could he ensure that –

“Is Molly all right?” Mycroft jolted at his mother’s whisper, then looked at her standing in the open doorway. “Is she feeling better?”

“She’s still asleep.” Mycroft answered Violet softly, but then raised his voice a bit to call Molly’s name while running a finger over her cheek. He watched her eyes move behind their lids, then her lashes fluttered and he was staring into her warm brown eyes. She smiled slowly and hummed as she raised her palm to his chest and slid her hand up to curve around his neck. “Mummy’s here to check on you.”

Molly held his eyes for a moment before dropping her hand and turning to look at Violet. “I’m fine – I think.” She scooted to the edge of the bed and sat up. 

Violet wouldn’t let anyone assist her with Siger’s birthday lunch, insisting that she had everything well in hand, so Molly and Mycroft went to sit in the back garden. Siger came outside awhile later, saying he’d been banished from the kitchen, and Sherlock was right behind him. Siger asked if the others would like to go for a walk, so the four of them went out the back gate and headed across the open field. They were all walking together until Sherlock abruptly strode off on his own. Molly glanced at the others, then took off after him. Once she caught up, she slipped her arm through Sherlock’s, ignoring his long-suffering sigh.

“Slow down, Sherlock,” Molly protested. “We’re not in a race.”

“I’m not walking too quickly,” he said, glowering. “You’re just short, Molly.”

She looked over her shoulder. “You’re increasing the distance from your dad and Mycroft, and they’re as tall as or taller than you, so you’re going too fast.”

“They’re old and fat – well, Mycroft’s fat.”

“Mycroft is not fat, Sherlock!” Molly huffed in annoyance. “That joke isn’t funny, you know. It’s getting really old.”

“So is Mycroft.”

“No he’s not.” Molly sighed. “Are you ever going to stop insulting him? You’re thirty-nine, he’s forty-six … don’t you think it’s about time the bickering stopped?”

“He starts it.”

“He does sometimes,” she conceded, “but not as often as you.” Molly rolled her eyes. “I’m almost thirty-six years old and having to talk to my brother-in-law about how to behave. I suppose it’s good practice for when I have an actual child to raise.” She looked over her shoulder again and tugged on his arm. “We’re getting too far ahead of them.”

“That was the point.”

“Sherlock.” She pulled and tugged until they were facing the other direction. “Come on. Lunch will be ready before long.”

Two hours later, Siger was sitting at the head of the table, wearing a bright red cone hat, while his bowtie flashed with multi-colored lights. He sat up straighter when he heard Violet and Molly returning from the kitchen. As they came into the room, Violet carrying his cake, ablaze with candles, the two of them started singing “Happy Birthday” and Sherlock and Mycroft joined in, but only after receiving stern glances from both women. As Violet set the orange and white-chocolate sponge in front of Siger, Molly hovered with a box of matches, ready to relight any candles that went out. “Hurry up and make a wish so you can blow out the candles!”

They had made it through the main meal without much sniping between the brothers, but Sherlock’s resistance failed when Molly was serving the cake. “That slab of cake will blow the diet for sure, brother dear –”

“Shut up, Sherlock!” The others’ heads whipped around at Molly’s sharp rebuke, but she kept her eyes on Sherlock’s. “Stop being so tedious.”

“Molly –”

“It’s true, Mycroft. Sherlock’s constant needling of you about an unnecessary diet is a complete bore.” She turned back to Sherlock. “Mycroft may be older than you, but he’s taller than you, perfectly lean, even a bit underweight for his height, more active than you think, and in exceedingly good shape. Pay attention, brother dear, and stop with the old joke.” She raised the cake knife again, arching a brow at him. “How much do you want?”

When Molly took Sherlock’s plate to him, she kissed his cheek before he could stop her. “You’re still my favorite brother-in-law.” She grinned at him when he snorted, then returned to take her seat by Mycroft. By the time they’d finished eating, stored the leftovers, and completed the kitchen clean-up, it was almost 3:30 and Siger and Violet went upstairs for their usual afternoon nap. 

Molly wanted to get out of the house so she and Mycroft walked to the village and strolled around looking in shop windows before walking back to The Cottage. Sherlock was on his laptop in the sitting room and studied Molly for a moment, before returning his gaze to the screen. “Blue raspberry slush puppy, Molly?”

“How did you – never mind.” Molly went upstairs to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her tongue looked blue and her lips also had a bluish tinge. Brushing her teeth and tongue helped, but didn’t entirely get rid of the evidence.

Siger and Violet were back downstairs by 5:00 so Molly and Mycroft joined them in the sitting room. Sherlock had disappeared again, and Molly found herself hoping there wasn’t a gun on the premises. She’d heard what happened to Mrs. Hudson’s walls when he got bored, and Sherlock was most definitely bored. She figured Mycroft’s boredom had almost reached Sherlockian levels but he was better at hiding it. The conversation turned to the baby and Siger and Violet – mostly Violet – asked so many questions about their plans that Molly felt as if she’d been interrogated, if in a kindly manner. There hadn’t been time for Molly and Mycroft to discuss the kind of details Violet brought up, and Molly felt a bit overwhelmed by the time their talk changed to what to have for supper.

By 9:45, Molly had fallen asleep on the sofa and Mycroft wrapped an arm around her so her head was resting on his chest. She roused a bit when she first felt the vibration of his voice under her ear, but was lulled back to sleep by the easy rhythm of his heartbeat and the drone of conversation. Mycroft woke her at 10:30 when the others were ready to go to bed. He let Molly have the bathroom first, then waited until she was in bed before giving her a brief kiss and going to get a shower.

When he returned, Mycroft carefully positioned himself along the curve of Molly’s body and slid his arm over her waist, expecting her to be asleep again, but instead she shifted away and rolled to face him, folding her arm under her head.

“Mycroft …”

“Hmmm?”

“All that talk about the baby tonight …”

“Yes?”

“Your parents are obviously ecstatic at the thought of having a grandchild to spoil, but they seemed to assume you’ll be participating in a lot of the usual childhood activities.” Molly put her palm on his chest and urged him onto his back, then scooted over to burrow her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned, the only thing you _have_ to do is to love him unconditionally. The details can work themselves out as we go along, but I won’t be expecting you to get strained carrots spit up on you or to bathe a slippery toddler or to wrangle kids at noisy birthday parties or to take him to Legoland.” She lifted her head to look at him. “But I _am_ counting on you to be around until your father’s age and beyond so we’ll have a lot of years being just the two of us at home again once this child grows up and has his own life to live.” She dropped her head back against his shoulder. “And I don’t ever want us to stop being a couple and start treating each other like nothing more than his parents. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do,” Mycroft said, brushing his fingers up and down her arm. Molly nestled closer and was quiet for so long that he thought she’d gone to sleep, but she suddenly slid her hand off his chest and rested it on her stomach.

“I’ve known how a baby is conceived for more than 25 years, but first it was a basic ‘how babies are made’ talk and then later the emphasis was on preventing that from happening. I’d never really considered the act of conception in personal terms,” she said, rubbing her hand in a circle. “Now I keep thinking about how my becoming pregnant depended on that one single sperm out of millions of your little wiggly guys overcoming incredible odds at just the right moment to fertilize my egg, and even after that so much more had to go right.” She sighed, then gave him a slow smile. “But what I really think about most is the fact that I’m carrying a part of you inside me twenty-four hours a day, which makes me feel _incredibly_ sexy.”

Mycroft slipped his hand around her neck and tugged her closer until their mouths met in a kiss that started out easy but gradually deepened. Molly broke away and whispered, “Won’t Sherlock hear?”

“We’ll just have to be quiet,” Mycroft whispered back, then slowly rolled them onto their sides. “Unless you’d rather go to sleep.” 

Molly slid her leg over his hip to pull him closer. “Not a chance, Mr. Holmes.”

* * * * * * * *

Molly was lightly dozing, her cheek pressed to Mycroft’s bare chest, when someone tapped on their bedroom door early Sunday morning. Her eyes flew open when she heard Violet softly call her name. Oh god. She knew Mycroft would be _mortified_ for his mother to see them in bed together, much less in bed together _naked._ Molly pushed herself up and off of him and was moving to sit up when the door cracked open. She swiftly jerked the bedcovers over Mycroft’s chest and clutched them to her breasts as Violet’s head appeared around the door. Molly smiled and beckoned her to come in since there wasn’t much else she could do.

“Good morning, darling girl,” Violet whispered as walked to the bed and set a small foil-covered plate and a bottle of water on the bedside table. “I brought you some dry toast and crackers. It should help settle your stomach if you eat a few bites before getting up.”

“Thank you, Mummy … I will.” Molly saw Violet glance at Mycroft’s sleeping form before her eyes slid back to Molly, who flushed right on cue. “Um, Mycroft’s still asleep.” _And I’m an idiot for stating the obvious again._

“So I see,” she said, looking amused. “I just wanted to bring you the toast before you got up.” She took a few steps toward the door, stooped toward the floor, and turned back to lay their pajamas across the foot of the bed, giving Molly another amused look. “I’ll see you both later.”

Molly simply fell back onto her pillow and pulled the covers over her head.

* * * * * * * *

While the others tucked into Violet’s usual morning feast, Molly took a glass of orange juice and a plain scone into the back garden and settled on a bench along the stone wall. The smell of bacon had caused only a low level of queasiness and even that had eased off once she went outside. She set her empty glass on the ground, stretched her arms along the back of the bench, raised her face to the clear blue sky, and drew a deep breath of the cool morning air.

“Feeling better?”

Molly opened her eyes and smiled at Violet, then shifted over to make room. “Mmmm, from sheer enjoyment of this beautiful weather. The morning sickness was really nothing. I think the toast and crackers did the trick.”

Violet patted Molly’s leg then drew her own deep breath. “It really is a lovely morning. After so much rain for so long, the past week has been glorious.” 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, then Violet sighed. “I’m sorry for all the questions last night, Molly. You can’t have had time to think about everything, much less to have made decisions that you’re ready to share.” She turned to Molly and frowned. “I hope you don’t think I was being critical when I asked if you were going to stop working.”

Molly took Violet’s hand. “Not at all. I’m not sure what will happen in the long-term. I’ll be doing more teaching and administrative work and less hands-on in the lab and morgue the farther along I get. At this point, I plan to go back to work after my maternity leave, but I don’t know. I know it’s not necessary financially, but I do enjoy it, and there’s child care available at work, so I could have the baby close by.” She sighed. “I just don’t know, Mummy.”

“Stop thinking about it for now and let’s enjoy the day,” Violet urged, patting Molly’s leg again. “So … how did Mycroft react when you told him?”

Molly gave Violet an exaggerated look of shock, then giggled. “Surprised. He was actually surprised. I assumed Mycroft would be the one informing me if I ever got pregnant.” She looked toward the kitchen window. “I had just stopped taking the pill the first week of June and my system and hormones were doing crazy things, so I assumed everything going on with me was related to that. It wasn’t until Wednesday that I seriously considered I could be pregnant so I had the sonogram done by a friend at work that morning. Mycroft didn’t know anything about it until I presented him with the proof.” Molly paused, then grinned slowly at Violet. “At lunch. At the Diogenes Club.”

“At the Diogenes!” Violet laughed. “A pregnancy announcement at the Diogenes … that must surely have been a first!” 

Molly’s grin faded and she sighed. “Mycroft has dealt with so many changes over the past year, and he’s been so good to me. Sometimes I still think it must be a dream, that there’s no way the ‘Ice Man’ I first saw at Bart’s could be the man he is with me now.”

Violet sobered as well. “For all that Siger and I hoped Mycroft would someday meet someone and then actually let that someone into his life, I didn’t really believe it would ever happen. He’d always been detached from people, and he never showed any interest in women – or men – that we saw. It was all about the work or having to deal with Sherlock, which I know involved a lot more time and trouble than he’s ever let on to us about.” She looked at Molly with raised brows, then continued when Molly said nothing. “It’s possible Mycroft had some sort of personal life that we knew nothing about, but, if he did, there was no sign of it in the way he acted and no evidence of it at his home. When we’d visit London and go out to dinner or to a show or some other public place, I’d often see women and sometimes men look Mycroft over and make an effort to get his attention, but he didn’t seem to notice.” She paused, considering that. “Well, being Mycroft, he probably noticed someone was looking at him, but I doubt he realized it was in appreciation.” A sigh, then she continued, “As you know, Sherlock never lets Mycroft forget that he had some issues with weight in his early adult years, and I think that’s affected Mycroft’s image of himself ever since.”

Molly took Violet’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “The first time I saw Mycroft, he was arguing with Sherlock across the lab from me. I didn’t know who he was and he was in his iciest Ice Man mode, so he certainly didn’t create a good first impression,” she said, smiling at the memory. “But then he kidnapped me …” she stopped to laugh at Violet’s gasp. “Come on, Mummy … you’ve heard about him doing that! Anyway, Mycroft was being scary Ice Man, and I was doing my best not to be intimidated, and I came away from it being proud to have held my own with him but also feeling overwhelmed by his – I don’t know, I guess his charisma. Later that night, when I thought about what had happened, I found myself remembering how damned attractive Mycroft was in his three-piece suit and with that deep voice and how tall and lean and powerful he looked.”

When Molly didn’t go on, Violet asked tentatively, “How did the two of you ever get together?”

“That wasn’t until years later. After I helped with Sherlock’s supposed death, Mycroft would contact me from time to time to let me know Sherlock was all right, and then we started having tea occasionally and later we met on a bit more of a regular schedule -- as Mycroft told you when you forced him to spill the beans last year!” Molly grinned, then continued, “The meetings stopped when Sherlock came back, but then Mycroft contacted me after a couple of months and we started going to tea again.”

“And then?”

Molly glanced at the kitchen window, then looked at Violet. “You know Mycroft wouldn’t like me talking to you about this, right?” When her mother-in-law nodded, she went on, “So let’s not tell him I told you.” Violet giggled – there was no other word for it. “Well, it was about six months after my engagement to Tom ended, and Mycroft and I were having tea. I was feeling quite lonely and blurted out something about missing being with someone occasionally.” Molly looked at Violet and flushed. “I can’t believe I’m telling my husband’s mother this.”

“Because you know your mother-in-law understands completely.”

Molly grinned. “Anyway, I then blurted out the idea of having a friend with benefits – a concept Mycroft was completely unfamiliar with, by the way -- and his reaction made me want to needle him a bit, so I asked if he knew anyone who might be interested and … well, a couple of weeks later he showed up at my flat and, um, offered his services. So to speak.”

Violet gasped and stared at Molly, wide-eyed. “I don’t believe it. My Mycroft? _Really?”_

“Really.”

They silently stared at each other, then Violet started to grin. “Well, well, well.” She turned to look at the kitchen window. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of my son.” They were silent again for a few moments, then Molly burst out laughing and Violet joined in. 

Indoors, Siger was putting a stack of plates in the sink and happened to look out the window. “Oh, dear.”

“What’s wrong?”

Siger turned away and looked at Mycroft, who was sitting by himself at the kitchen table, Sherlock having disappeared somewhere right after they finished eating. “Um, probably nothing.”

Mycroft studied his father for several moments, then got up and joined him at the sink. He looked at his father, then gently pushed him aside so he could see out the window. His mother and Molly were sitting on the bench, laughing … and continued to laugh while he watched. Mycroft turned away and leaned against the sink. “So? They’re … chatting,” he said, grimacing.

Siger shook his head slowly. “Son, when women are laughing together like that, they are almost certainly talking about men. In this case, us.”

Mycroft stared at his father, alarmed. “Molly wouldn’t …”

“I once thought that about your mother.”

They turned in unison to regard their wives. “Surely Molly wouldn’t …”

Oh but she would.

“What happened next, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“He, um, invited me to spend the following weekend at the house …” Molly looked at Violet, then flushed as she continued, “and it was better than I could ever have imagined. Mycroft was ... is, um, _amazing.”_ Violet arched a brow, and Molly arched both of hers and nodded.

“So, in other words, he takes after his dad,” Violet said, deadpan, and they burst out laughing again. They both turned to look at the kitchen window and jumped when they saw their husbands staring back at them.

“Oh shit,” Molly muttered.

Violet covered her mouth to guard against any possible lip-reading. “We tell them nothing.” After a few moments, they got up and walked around the edge of the garden, with Violet answering Molly’s questions about various plantings. By the time they reached the kitchen door and went in, they had control of themselves and were able to meet their husbands’ eyes without laughing. Molly bit the inside of her jaw when Mycroft’s gaze narrowed on her suspiciously, but she gave him a close-mouthed smile and took her glass to the sink. She was relieved when Sherlock suddenly swept into the kitchen, Belstaff swirling around his legs.

“We need to leave now.”

“We’re not leaving until after lunch, Sherlock.”

“No, we’re going now, brother mine. Lestrade has a case.” Sherlock’s eyes met Molly’s, then moved on to Violet and Siger. “I’m sorry, Mummy and Dad.”

“It’s all right, dear, but I don’t think Mycroft is ready –”

“Mycroft?” Sherlock stared at his brother, a deep crease between his brows.

Mycroft looked at Molly. “Are you all right with leaving now?”

“Of course she’s all right with it,” Sherlock snapped irritably. “Come on, you’re wasting time.” He gave Violet a brief hug and kissed her cheek, then hugged his father and went out the door, calling over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the car.”

Mycroft sighed, then held his hand out to Molly. “We better get our things together.” 

As the younger couple went upstairs, Siger looked at Violet and sighed. “Do I want to know what you and Molly were talking about in the garden?”

“Let’s just say you should be _extremely_ proud of your son,” she replied, grinning mischievously, and gave him a quick kiss. “Mikey’s apparently a chip off the old block.”

* * * * * * * *

“Can’t you go any faster?”

“I could go a _lot_ faster, Sherlock, but I could also get arrested. Unless Greg wants to send us a police escort, eighty is as fast as I’m going.”

“Molly –”

“Needs to focus on the road, brother dear,” Mycroft broke in, smoothly, “and you need to relax and stop distracting her.” Sherlock huffed loudly in annoyance, but slumped back on the seat. Mycroft reached over to give Molly’s knee a quick squeeze, then sat back and took out his phone.

Molly thought they’d made good time as she turned off the A3 onto Roehampton Lane, then groaned when she saw the flashing lights from a police motorcycle coming up quickly behind her. Molly pulled over as soon as she could, then reached for her handbag. She stopped, shocked, when Sherlock jumped out, yelling “Bring my bag to Bart’s tomorrow!” before he slammed the car door and hurried toward the policeman, grabbing the extra helmet as he swung onto the back of the motorcycle. She and Mycroft watched as the motorcycle sped off, lights still flashing, Sherlock’s coat fluttering in the wind before he quickly tucked it under his thigh, and then looked at each other.

“Well, Sherlock said he was in a hurry,” Mycroft observed dryly, then smiled when Molly snorted.

The rest of the drive home was slower and much more pleasant. When they neared St. John’s Wood, Mycroft asked Molly if she’d like to have lunch out since Mrs. Collingwood had the day off, so she changed course and headed for a corner “gastro pub” that was located within a mile of the house and reported to have a good Sunday menu. She pulled into a curbside parking space just meters from the pub door and turned to Mycroft with a grin. “How’s that?”

Mycroft looked over her shoulder at the pub and nodded. “It looks fine.”

Molly had deliberately shown no reaction to Mycroft’s suggestion of an unplanned lunch out, but she actually felt stunned. She couldn’t believe they were going to a pub like a “normal” couple, especially one that hadn’t been checked out by security. Actually, Molly thought, someone might have been following them from Surrey and even now be on alert nearby, but she chose to believe they were on their own.

Mycroft took Molly’s hand as they walked the short distance to the pub, then held the door open. Molly stopped to look at him before going through the door in an attempt to fix the image in her mind. Mycroft was wearing a pair of black cords, a white shirt – no tie, top two buttons undone -- and a charcoal gray V-necked jumper. He looked casually elegant, but not so elegant that he didn’t fit in with the pub crowd. Molly was actually dressed quite similarly – black jeans, white shirt and pale gray jumper – but she couldn’t pull off the kind of easy sophistication that seemed to come naturally to Mycroft. 

The pub was about two-thirds full and they were able to get a booth in the snug located off the side of the main room and far enough away from the bar and televisions to be a bit quieter. They studied the menu, then Mycroft went to the bar to place their order and bring back drinks. Once he settled across from her and took a sip of wine, he set the glass down and put his hand on the table, palm up in invitation. Molly looked at it, then placed her palm over his.

“So,” he said, rubbing the back of her hand, “what were you and Mummy talking about in the garden?”

Molly didn’t answer directly. “I can talk to her about things I wouldn’t talk to anyone else about.” She stopped to take a sip of sparkling water. “I’ll be able to ask Mary questions about being pregnant, but talking to Mummy will be like talking to my own mother.” Mycroft was aware that Molly hadn’t answered his question, but let it go. 

They weren’t in a hurry to get home, so lingered over the traditional Sunday roast and trimmings, which Mycroft agreed was tasty enough, if not up to his mother’s or Mrs. Collingwood’s standards. It was just after 3:00 when Molly pulled the car into the garage. When they were walking to the back door, Mrs. Collingwood came out of her flat, carrying Toby. She followed them into the house for a few minutes before leaving again, then Mycroft and Molly headed upstairs to put their things away.

Molly was on the bed in her room, playing with Toby, when Mycroft came in. “What would you like to do the rest of the day?”

 _“You_ need to do some work.” She observed, scratching Toby’s chest. “I heard all those text alerts.”

“Anthea’s on top of things.” He waved a hand dismissively. “What do you want to do?”

Molly tilted her head and considered him thoughtfully. “Soak in the tub. Take a nap. Have my way with you.”

Mycroft studied Molly equally thoughtfully. “Could we reverse the order?” When she giggled, he took Toby from her and set him aside, then picked Molly up and headed down the hall.

Molly slipped her arms around his neck and pressed several kisses along his jawline. “I love you, Mycroft Holmes.” She kissed him in front of his ear. “I adore you.” She kissed his earlobe, which caused a quiver to run through him, then whispered into his ear, “I want you … I _crave_ you with every cell of my body.” His hold on her tightened and he hitched her higher in his arms as he pushed the bedroom door shut with his foot, then crossed the room and set her on her feet by the bed.

Mycroft lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, kissed her forehead, then pulled back and met her eyes. “I love you, Molly Hooper Holmes.” He gently kissed her lips, then met her eyes again. “I adore you.” He carefully pulled her jumper over her head, then tugged her shirttail from her trousers and slowly unbuttoned her shirt. He slipped the shirt down her arms, letting it fall to the floor, then cupped her breasts and brushed his thumbs over her lace-covered nipples. “Are your breasts sore?”

“Not sore, just extra sensitive,” Molly said, as he slid his hands around to flick her bra open and pull it down her arms. 

Mycroft took hold of her waist, tugging her to him, then arched her backward and lowered his head to her breasts. “I crave you.” Molly gasped and clutched his upper arms when he gently nibbled on her right nipple, then laved it with his tongue. She moaned, urging his head closer as he moved to her other nipple and did the same. Mycroft lifted his head and returned his attention to undressing Molly. Once she was naked, he moved closer, urging her onto the bed. She lay back, arms flung overhead, and watched him pull his jumper off and toss it toward a chair. Her breath caught when he undid his belt, loosened his trousers and lowered the zipper, before shrugging out of his shirt and reaching for his wristwatch –

 _“Stop!”_ Molly quickly sat up, grabbed his left hand and tugged him toward her. _“God_ ... your wrists and hands drive me crazy. And wearing that wristwatch –” She ran her fingers around and under his watchband and raised his hand to her mouth … _“hnnnnggg_ …,” licking his palm before running her tongue over his wrist, then she took the base of his thumb between her teeth and dragged her lips along it until she sucked the thumb into her mouth. Mycroft’s fingers caressed Molly’s jaw as she continued playing with his thumb, the wet sounds audible despite his heavier breathing. She looked up at him from under her brows and slowly pulled her mouth away.

When Molly licked her lips, Mycroft suddenly gripped her upper arms and lifted her off the bed, clamping his mouth on hers and delving deep. Molly pulled her arms free and shoved his trousers and pants down, then fell back onto the bed, clutching him to her with arms and legs. She gave a protesting moan when he struggled free and stood again, then gasped when he slid his hands between her knees, separating them as he pulled her backside to the edge of the bed, and carefully positioned himself before slowly pushing into her until he could go no farther. Their eyes met and he bent to kiss her again, their tongues tangling for several moments, before he raised his head and almost withdrew from her. Molly moaned and reached for Mycroft’s shoulders when he thrust more firmly into her, then retreated again, thrusting and retreating, settling into an unhurried rhythm, their breathing getting faster and rougher until Molly gave a choked sob - _ohgodohgodohgodohgod …_ He wrapped his hands around the back of her knees, tilted her hips higher, and leaned further into his thrusts, grunting from the strain, then groaned from deep in his core when Molly cried out and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. Several sharp thrusts ended with an eruption so powerful that Mycroft’s knees gave way and he had to catch himself with both hands against the mattress to avoid collapsing on top of Molly. He quickly withdrew and swung her legs farther onto the bed before falling on it alongside her.

When Mycroft’s breathing had finally returned to normal, he raised his head until he could see Molly’s face, which had gone slack with sleep. _Ah._ He got up and tugged the bedcovers down, worked them out from under her, then carefully adjusted her position until she lay lengthways on the bed. He settled beside her, pulled the covers over them, and stretched out with a tired sigh. Being loved, he thought ... being _craved,_ was good. Very good indeed.


	22. Maybe He Just Doesn't Mind Being Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That time when the only weapon Mycroft needed to defeat an enemy was the willingness to expose his heart ..._

Mrs. Collingwood let herself into the house early Monday morning and stopped short when she entered the kitchen, surprised to find her employer, still in his dressing gown and pajamas, feeding bread into the toaster. “Good morning, Mr. Mycroft,” she said, a question in her voice. “Early start at the office then?”

Mycroft flipped the toaster on, then turned to her with a smile. “Good morning.” He waved a hand dismissively. “No, that’s not for me. Molly’s been feeling a bit queasy the last few mornings, and dry toast seems to help.”

Mrs. Collingwood studied him carefully, thinking she must be wrong, but her first impression held – that he was not only happy, but feeling a bit … _shy?_ “Mr. Mycroft?”

He dropped his chin and slid his hands into his pockets. “Molly is pregnant, Mrs. C, almost ten weeks.” He looked up at her squeal, then grunted when she suddenly hugged him, pinning his arms to his sides until he gently freed one of them and gingerly patted her shoulder. “Yes, well … you can talk to Molly about it later, but for now I need to get the toast to her.”

Mrs. Collingwood loosened her hold, then kissed Mycroft’s cheek before releasing him. “I am so happy for you both.”

When the expectant parents entered the kitchen an hour or so later, dressed for work, Mrs. Collingwood was waiting with a hug and kisses for Molly -- and questions, lots of questions, which Molly did her best to answer after Mycroft excused himself. She was highly suspicious of the perfectly timed call he’d received and assumed he’d used some sort of self-dial app so he could beat a strategic retreat to his study. _The git._

* * * * * * * *

Molly stowed her things and Sherlock’s duffle bag in her locker, then headed for Mike Stamford’s office, where she dropped into the chair in front of his desk and huffed in annoyance. “I’ve already been congratulated _twice_ since I got here! So much for keeping the news quiet for a while.”

Mike raised his palms, shaking his head. “It wasn’t me, and I don’t believe it was Kathy. Probably someone in Records who completely forgot about patient confidentiality.” He dropped his hands to his desk. “Do you want me to investigate?”

Molly rested her head on the back of the chair and sighed. “Not on my behalf, but I suppose we can’t let such a breach go entirely unnoticed. Perhaps a few words to the department heads without my name coming into it?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Mike slumped back in his chair and studied Molly for a moment. “Is all well otherwise? You look a bit tired.”

“Gee, thanks.” Molly waved a hand dismissively when he started to apologize. “It’s all right, but I’m suddenly having morning sickness – no, not bad – and getting tired more than usual.”

“Are you all right with the work?”

“Fine – in fact, I better get on with it.” Molly turned back at the door. “Thanks, Mike.”

By 11 a.m., two more staff members had stopped by the lab to congratulate Molly. When the door swung shut behind the second visitor, Molly pulled out her phone and called Anthea.

“Hey, Molly. What’s up?”

That didn’t _sound_ like Anthea knew, but - “So, has Mycroft shared the news?”

“Was he supposed to tell me something?”

“Mmm – at least I told him he could.”

Anthea was silent for several moments, then, “Are you _pregnant?”_

Molly laughed at the delighted tone of her voice. “Yes! About ten weeks.” 

“I can’t believe it! The Ice Man’s going to be a dad.”

“And I’m going to be a mum. Believe me, I find _that_ almost as difficult to get my head around,” Molly said, chuckling.

“We simply _have_ to go to lunch soon so you can tell me all about it,” Anthea demanded. “How about – just a sec.” She’d obviously covered the receiver since all Molly could hear were unintelligible mumblings from Anthea and deeper rumblings from Mycroft. “Your husband says I should get back to work unless you actually need something. _Do_ you need anything?”

Molly could hear the laughter in Anthea’s voice. “Nope, but call me soon so we can decide about that lunch.”

Anthea rang off and swiveled her chair to face Mycroft, who was still standing at the door between their offices, wearing a long-suffering expression. “Tea, sir?” He inclined his head and turned away.

Anthea set a cup by Mycroft’s hand a few minutes later, then sat in her usual chair and stared as her boss studied a file as if a bloody bombshell hadn’t just been dropped. By the time he’d turned several more pages, her patience gave out. “Congratulations, sir!” She winced internally at how loud and chirpy her voice sounded, then continued in her more usual tone. “Molly told me your news.”

Mycroft didn’t say anything for several moments, but finally set the file down and leaned back in his chair. “Thank you, my dear.” Anthea waited, still staring at him. His expression was pleasantly neutral, or neutrally pleasant, she supposed – not exactly the usual blank mask, but surely such news warranted a more enthusiastic reply, even from the Ice Man. When she continued to stare, he raised his brows. “Was there anything else?” She finally looked away, then got up with a silent sigh. _Poor Molly._ Just as she reached the doorway, Mycroft said, “We’re _both_ very happy about it.” 

Anthea swiftly turned and he gave her a quick grin before opening his laptop. She closed the door behind her, then slowly smiled as she thought of the spark of humor that had briefly warmed Mycroft’s gaze. _Lucky_ Molly.

A few miles away, Molly was about to put her phone in her pocket, but paused a moment, thinking, and then made another call. “Whatcha doing for lunch today? Uh-huh. That’s fine – see you there.” An hour later, she was reaching for Elizabeth. “Gimme, gimme!”

Mary laughed as she passed the baby to Molly and settled in her chair. Looking around the packed café, she said, “Your timing was great. John’s gone off somewhere with Sherlock, Lizzie’s probably bored with my company, and I needed some adult girl talk.” She turned back in time to see the funny faces Molly was making at the baby and grinned. “So. What’s up?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Why does something have to be up?”

“You don’t normally call about lunch at such short notice.”

Molly continued to play with Lizzie for a few moments, then settled the baby on her lap. “Well, assuming Sherlock has actually kept his promise not to tell John, I thought you might enjoy being the bearer of some Holmes news this time.”

Mary studied Molly for a few seconds, then started grinning. “You’re not.”

“Oh, god – why did I think I could surprise you!” Molly lifted the baby in the air again. “Yes I am.” She smiled when Mary jumped up to give her a hug. “About ten weeks.”

“When did you find out?”

“Wednesday – and, no … we didn’t plan to spill the beans for a few weeks but the news leaked at the hospital, and I decided to be the one telling my nearest and dearest.”

“Aww, Molls.” Mary leaned over to give the younger woman another squeeze, then abruptly sat back, wide-eyed. “Oh. My. God. Mycroft Holmes as a daddy. It boggles my mind.”

Molly laughed. “I know.”

“How’d he take the news?”

“He’s _happy,_ Mary – not that it would be obvious to anyone else. I mean, he hasn’t gone all gooey. He’s still the Mycroft I know and love, thank god.”

“And Sherlock?”

“Surprisingly not rude. Not giddy either, of course, but no bombarding me with unwelcome facts and figures about the early stages of pregnancy, et cetera, et cetera. He wasn’t even rude to Mycroft – about _other_ things, yes, but not about the baby.” 

Molly leaned back and kept hold of Lizzie’s hands when the server arrived with their soup and sandwiches. She then opened a packet of cream crackers and, at Mary’s nod, handed one to the baby. “Why don’t you give John a quick call in case Sherlock can’t hold out much longer. I’d like you to beat him to it.” Molly shifted the baby to her left arm and started on her soup as Mary pulled out her phone.

“Oh, Jo-o-o-hn,” she sing-songed. “Guess what!”

When the boys pushed through the morgue doors later that afternoon, Sherlock made a beeline for Molly and stopped across from her, frowning. “I thought we weren’t telling people.”

Molly paused in the Y-incision she was making and lifted the scalpel as she looked up. “We weren’t until someone here told someone who told someone else and yada yada. If the news is out there anyway, then I’m going to be the one to tell those I care about most.”

John had rounded the PM table and gingerly leaned over Molly’s back to kiss her cheek. “Congratulations, Molls.”

“Thanks, John,” she said smiling, then continued more briskly, “Now both of you go elsewhere so I can get on with this.”

“Nope. Mr. Whitmore is why we’re here.”

Molly looked from Sherlock to the body. “So not a run-of-the-mill shooting?”

“Obviously not.” Sherlock scowled when the morgue doors opened again and Sally Donovan followed Greg Lestrade in. “Oh great.”

“Hello to you too, freak.”

“None of that in my morgue, Sergeant. All of you – stand back if you’re staying and let me finish the post mortem.” Sherlock didn’t budge but the others moved back enough not to be crowding Molly. She carefully completed the incision under her brother-in-law’s watchful eye.

“Hey, Molls …,” John said, wheedling. “Okay if I tell Greg?”

“Nope,” she quipped, then looked up at the Detective Inspector. “I’m pregnant, Greg.”

“Oh my god – the freak’s going to be an uncle!”

“Shut up, Donovan,” Greg said mildly, then gave Molly a warm smile. “That’s great news! When?”

“May fourteenth, supposedly.”

“How’s the British Government taking it?”

 _“Fine,”_ Sherlock broke in, then huffed in annoyance. “Could we possibly focus on the _case_ now?”

Molly turned back to Mr. Whitmore, suppressing an inappropriate grin. Thirty minutes later, her phone rang as she was cleaning up, so she hurriedly dried her hands before pulling it out of her pocket. _Mycroft._ “Before you say anything, yes, I told Anthea, but the news had leaked here and I didn’t want our friends to hear it from someone else.” Molly took a breath as her flurry of words came to a halt and walked farther away from the others. “Hello, by the way.”

“I didn’t call to complain, my dear,” Mycroft said lightly.

“I also told Mary at lunch so for once she could beat Sherlock in telling John something Holmes-related. Then Greg came to the morgue with the boys so I told him, too. Actually, they’re still here. And so is Sergeant Donovan … oh dear.”

“You better go then,” he said. “I really called to tell you I’ll be working late tonight so don’t wait on me for dinner.”

“All right. See you when I see you then.” She lowered her voice and whispered “love you” before ringing off.

* * * * * * * *

November started cold and rainy and continued that way as the passing days turned to weeks. Mycroft and Molly spent more time in the gym on the weekends since their usual walks didn’t appeal to either of them. On the afternoon of the third Sunday, Molly had finished her workout on the stair stepper and was watching Mycroft run on the treadmill.

“I’ve seen you move much faster than that when you wanted to,” she observed.

“This is fast enough,” he replied easily.

“You’re not even breathing unsteadily,” she said. “That speed has become too easy for you.” Mycroft glanced at her, then adjusted the speed upward a bit. “That wasn’t a criticism, Mycroft. You’re just more fit than you think.”

He ran for another ten minutes at the faster speed, then hopped off in a light-hearted move than always charmed Molly. His breathing was a little faster than usual, but had returned to normal by the time he’d wiped a towel over his face and neck and taken a long swallow from his water bottle. After lowering the bottle, Mycroft looked at Molly where she was sitting sideways in one of the wing chairs with her heels propped on the side table. “That must be how Goldilocks looked when she was sitting in Papa Bear’s chair.”

“You know about Goldilocks?”

“I actually was a child once, Molly,” he replied dryly, then walked over to her.

“Yesss … but I figured you were already reading _The Art of War_ or Mummy was reading to you about physics, not fairytales.”

Mycroft stooped to slide one arm under her knees and the other around her back as she wrapped her arms around his neck. When he straightened, she rested her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. “You know your carrying me around like this makes me feel all girly and ready to swoon, right?”

“Of course.” He said, hitching her higher as they left the gym and went down the hall to the staircase. “I better do it as often as possible over the next couple of months before you get too heavy for me to lift.”

Molly frowned. “That was rather rude.”

“Sorry,” Mycroft said, lips twitching as he carried her into the bedroom and pushed the door shut with his shoulder. He lowered Molly to her feet, then carefully brushed her hair back with his fingers and pressed his lips to her throat. Molly hummed when he kissed his way up her neck and nibbled on her earlobe for a moment before pulling back and reaching for the hem of her sweatshirt.

* * * * * * * *

Two days later, Mycroft met Molly at her office and they went upstairs for her “official” ultrasound. Mycroft stood aside as the sonographer – Molly’s friend Kathy again – helped her get settled properly on the table and applied gel to her abdomen, but he moved forward to take Molly’s hand once the scan started. For more than ten minutes, they watched the baby roll from side to side, turning this way and that, upside down, facing away, in profile, feet forward, continually changing position. Kathy frequently paused when the probe captured a clearer image of his face, hands, feet, spine, legs, arms, fingers – and several times a penis, confirming Mycroft’s and Sherlock’s deduction -- and the entire time they could see and hear the rapid drumming of his tiny heart. Mycroft’s hand squeezed Molly’s from time to time, mostly unconsciously, she believed. When the scan was complete and Molly was using wipes to remove the gel, Kathy told them the May 14th due date seemed to be correct and all looked well, pending the result of Molly’s blood test.

Mycroft walked Molly back to her office and followed her in, then gathered her into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. “Just so you know, I haven’t warmed to the idea of ‘Michael.’ He’d end up being Mike or Mikey and – _dear lord,_ Mummy would probably start calling us Big Mikey and Little Mikey.”

“No need to worry … I’ve crossed ‘Michael’ off my list.” Molly pulled back to look up at him. “Don’t you need to get to work?”

Mycroft sighed, then gave Molly a firm kiss before waving a hand toward her chair. “We need to have a talk about that.”

* * * * * * * *

Mycroft was gone for two weeks – fifteen days to be exact – and, despite their frequent phone conversations and an increase in Mycroft’s usual tolerance level for texting, Molly had missed him more than she’d ever tell him. Work and Christmas preparations helped make the time go by, as did a visit from Violet and Siger that at Molly’s urging was extended past the originally planned weekend. It also helped that she went to the Watsons’ flat for dinner, and they came to lunch at the house. Sherlock showed up several evenings with his violin and played solos for her, as well as joining her in duets. He mostly refrained from criticizing her skills on the piano, but did strongly criticize her taste when she wheedled him into playing some of her favorite Christmas carols.

Mycroft’s return flight was due to land mid-afternoon on the second Saturday of December, and Walter had agreed to Molly’s request to accompany him to City Airport, where they pulled up near a number of similar dark saloon cars lined up outside the hangar Mycroft used.

The plane arrived on schedule and eventually taxied to a stop about fifteen meters from where Walter was parked. A few minutes later, the plane door slowly opened and the first person who eventually came down the stairs was one of Mycroft’s agents, Andrew Davis, dressed in a pilot’s uniform. Five other men in suits and coats followed Andrew, and they all turned to watch when Mycroft appeared at the door. He paused as he spoke to someone over his shoulder, and Molly felt her heart rate quicken. He was wearing a dark suit and overcoat and carrying his briefcase and umbrella … and she thought, yet again, that he was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

The other men were standing as if at attention and stepped back almost in unison as Mycroft started down the stairs. His back was so straight and his movements so smooth, so elegant, and Molly felt her usual amazed disbelief that he was hers – or more accurately, she thought, that _she_ was _his._ Her eyes were riveted on him, but movement at the top of the stairs caught her attention as Anthea exited the plane and came to a stop near Mycroft, who appeared to be giving instructions to the other men. Anthea said something when Mycroft paused, and he glanced at her briefly before turning back to the six men. Another man came down the stairs, and Molly recognized him as Thomas McLean, the pilot/agent she’d met in Edinburgh when she met Andrew.

One of the cars had pulled closer to the plane and two men got out and moved to the luggage compartment and started transferring bags to the boot.

Walter had got out of the car when the plane landed, but Molly was still sitting in the front passenger seat, which she’d chosen to sit in - despite Walter’s brief protest - so she could chat with him more easily while they waited. Molly finally pushed the door open and stood, resting her hands on the frame of the door, and continued to watch Mycroft. Her breath caught the next moment when she knew he’d noticed her. To Molly’s great surprise, a warm smile immediately cracked Mycroft’s neutral mask … actually _shattered_ it to the point that the others followed his gaze and looked Molly’s way as well. Mycroft broke eye contact with her after a few moments and his face smoothed into cool impassivity as he turned away, causing the others to come to attention once again.

Mycroft finally gave a brief nod to the men who were standing in a half circle in front of him, then said something to Anthea. She, Andrew and Thomas headed toward one car, and the rest of the men moved toward several others. Molly’s gaze returned to Mycroft as he started walking her way. She thought his usual elegant stride had a touch of predator to it as he bore down on her, and she felt a jolt when their gazes met and held. She shivered, imagining a jaguar on the prowl, eyes fixed on its prey ... slowly, stealthily moving through a dark forest before its muscles suddenly tense and it leaps for the kill. Walter had walked away from the car and stopped at a distance far enough to give them some privacy, but surely Mycroft would stop, surely he wouldn’t touch her in front of anyone, _surely._

Mycroft did stop before touching Molly, but he was so close that she had to tilt her head and step back to keep from breaking eye contact. They studied each other in silence for several moments, then the wind blew some strands of hair across her face and he raised a hand to tuck them behind her ear. “I didn’t expect you to meet me,” he said, smiling slowly.

Molly reached up to cover his hand by her ear. “I wanted to surprise you,” she said, then shook her head, smiling wryly. “Actually, I didn’t want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary to see you.”

“So you’ve missed me?”

“Don’t joke about it unless you want me to jump you in public.”

“God forbid.” His lips quirked, then he dropped his hand and did a half-turn toward the other cars. Molly saw him frown and flick his hand at them before opening the back door for her. By the time Mycroft settled beside her, Walter had returned to the car and within a few moments they had joined the queue behind Andrew’s car. 

“You look well, my dear,” Mycroft said as he took her hand.

“I _am_ well,” she said, smiling when he threaded their fingers together. “You, on the other hand, look tired.”

“I _am_ tired, but it’s nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” Mycroft twisted to reach Molly’s stomach with his free hand. “Hmmm, I thought I saw a bump. How did this happen in just two weeks?”

“I grew … or _he_ grew.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or it could be all the chocolate ice cream I’ve been eating.”

“Cravings?”

“More like sublimation, but ice cream is no substitute for _you.”_ Molly flushed at the heated expression that briefly widened his eyes and flickered across his face, leaving a muscle twitching in his jaw. She again thought of that jaguar. 

When they got to the house and hung their coats in the hall, Molly followed Mycroft to the study to drop off his briefcase, then to the kitchen to greet Mrs. Collingwood and arrange for dinner to be served at 7:30, and finally upstairs to their bedroom.

When Mycroft took off his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed, Molly moved to stand between his knees. “Now, let’s see what’s been going on here.” He carefully unfastened her trousers and pushed her jumper and shirt up, then spread his hands over her bare stomach. He slowly traced his fingers over her smooth skin and raised his eyes to hers. “That’s definitely a bump. Small, but a bump.”

Molly cupped her hands over the backs of his. “Another few weeks and we should be able to feel him moving around.” When Mycroft leaned forward to kiss her stomach, Molly rubbed his neck and shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re home. I – _we_ – missed you.”

Mycroft slid his hands around her hips to pull her closer and pressed his cheek to her breasts. “Come to bed?”

“Oh yes … please.”

* * * * * * * *

The following Tuesday afternoon, Mycroft sighed when his phone rang. “What do you want, Sherlock. I’m busy.”

“What’s wrong with Molly?”

Mycroft tensed in his chair. “What do you mean? She was fine this morning.”

“She stammered, her shoulders were hunched under her labcoat, and she gave me everything I asked for without any argument.”

Mycroft considered that for a moment, then, “I’ll see to Molly, but do try to refrain from taking advantage, little brother.” He returned his phone to his pocket and leaned back in his chair, picking up his pen and turning it between his fingers for several moments before tossing it on his desk and buzzing Anthea. Once she was settled in the chair across from him, he silently studied her expression and then straightened his back and rested his hands on his desk. “You and Molly went to lunch today.”

Mycroft’s voice was soft and his tone matter-of-fact, but Anthea felt a twinge in her gut at what she knew was stirring beneath it. She broke eye contact and lowered her gaze to watch the slow tap of Mycroft’s index finger … once, twice, three times. She raised her eyes and felt her temper return when she met his narrow-eyed stare. “It was Lady Tiffany, sir. She’s a first-class bitch.”

“Not first-class, my dear – not in any sense.” Mycroft leaned back again, draped his hands over the chair arms and raised his brows.

“She and several of the pack she runs with were coming out of a boutique on Marylebone just as Molly and I left the restaurant a few doors down. Lady Tiffany spotted Molly and waited on the pavement so that her group blocked our way.” Anthea looked at her hands, which were twisting together in her lap. “There they were in haute couture and diamonds and spiky Louboutins and there I was dressed like …” [she flicked a hand at her elegant suit and heels] “… and there Molly was in her hot pink coat and too-big khakis and old-lady loafers and that wild Tom Baker scarf – which she looks very sweet in, sir, but it _did_ make her look the very antithesis of Lady Tiffany – and the bitch looked Molly over and introduced her as the morgue lady. They all did their horsey laughs and then she told the others that Molly had it made, being married to a rich, powerful man, though how in the world she’d ever caught him – and, oh, look, she’s got him trapped for good now.” Anthea audibly ground her teeth. “I wanted to _kill_ her, sir – quite literally at that moment – but Molly just held her head up and laughed at the morgue comment and acted like the rest of it was a light-hearted joke. She said she had to get back to work and that it had been a pleasure to meet them and blah, blah, BLAH!” She took a deep breath. “Sorry, sir, but sometimes Molly is just too kind-hearted for this world.”

Mycroft gave Anthea a few moments to calm down. “And then?”

“Walter picked us up and we dropped Molly at Bart’s.” Anthea sighed, then raised her eyes. “I could tell she was upset, but trying not to show it.” She opened her lips to continue, then pressed them tightly together.

Mycroft sighed. “Out with it. You and Molly may attempt to be discreet, but I’m sure you know more about our private life than you let on.”

Anthea looked away and was embarrassed to hear herself stutter. “N-n-not really, sir. We don’t talk about you – well, not about anything really personal, but …” She met his eyes again and cleared her throat when he arched a brow. “Molly has occasionally made a comment about not understanding _why_ you would be with someone ordinary like her, how _she_ could possibly be the one who finally …” She broke off. “Well, along those lines. I’m sorry, sir, this is none of my business, but I believe it’s relatively easy for an outsider to play on that uncertainty. I don’t believe Molly has a low opinion of herself in general, but I also don’t think she truly understands how special she is.” She paused, then continued in a hard tone. “I think Lady Tiffany resents how you make her husband look weak and unimportant when the two of you are in the same room -- that she’d really like to hurt you without her or her husband getting into trouble over it and she thought hurting Molly’s feelings would be an indirect way to do that.”

Anthea sat back and took a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. “I’m sorry for rambling, sir. That was not an efficient report, but I consider Molly a dear friend and … I find it difficult to be objective.”

“I can’t fault you for that, my dear.” Mycroft picked up his pen and rolled it between his fingers several times before slowly placing it on his desk. “Thank you for the report, however rambling it may have been.” He gave her a brief smile, then turned and opened his laptop.

Anthea hesitated a moment before silently leaving his office. When the door clicked shut behind her, Mycroft leaned back in his chair and sighed, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, then briskly rubbed his face and dropped his hands to his thighs. Unfortunately for him, he knew what he needed to do.

* * * * * * * *

Mycroft arrived home at about 6:30 and Molly came to greet him as she usually did if she arrived first, except this time she had Toby in her arms and kept holding him against her chest even when she kissed Mycroft. She didn’t follow him upstairs, but instead returned to the kitchen and sat at the island after putting Toby down.

Mrs. Collingwood looked at Molly for a few moments, then set her knife on the cutting board. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Molly?”

She looked up and gave the housekeeper a brief smile. “Just a bit tired. I’ll be fine after getting some sleep.” Mycroft came into the kitchen a little while later and asked if Molly would rather eat in the kitchen instead of moving to the dining room. She gave him a grateful smile, before lowering her head and lifting a shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mycroft. I had a big lunch and I’m just not very hungry tonight.” 

Mycroft’s eyes met Mrs. Collingwood’s over Molly’s head. “It’s all right, my dear. I’m not that hungry either.” He leaned down until she looked at him. “I have to do some work after dinner, so why don’t you have a long soak in the tub and then an early night. Does that appeal?”

Her lips turned up and her eyes brightened. “It does, but I didn’t mean to abandon you - ”

“You’re not. I’m just sorry I have to work.” He straightened and gave the housekeeper a significant look. “Why don’t we go ahead and eat, if that suits Mrs. C.”

“Of course, Mr. Mycroft. Everything’s ready, except for reheating the soup, and that won’t take any time at all.”

* * * * * * * *

Molly had been in bed for an hour by the time Mycroft came upstairs, took his shower, and stretched out behind her. She was close to being asleep, rather than a pretense of it, when he broke the silence. 

“You asked me if I was all right.” Molly opened her eyes, frowning in the darkness, confused by his matter-of-fact statement. “You got in the car and said I looked tired. When I ignored the comment and started to update you on Sherlock, you interrupted to ask if I was all right.” Molly slowly rolled onto her back but didn’t say anything. “For our next meeting, I asked you to tea for the first time.”

“At the Connaught.”

“You came running in almost ten minutes late and had already started apologizing from halfway across the room.” 

“You told me to shut up.”

“I certainly did not.”

Molly turned her head toward him. “You said, ‘Doctor Hooper, would you kindly refrain from further apologies.’ In other words, shut up.”

“Mmm.” Mycroft was silent for a few moments, then, “You made me hazelnut eclairs and butterfly fairy cakes.”

“Six months later!” Molly huffed in remembered annoyance. “You declined the first four or five invitations to tea at my flat.”

“Four,” he remarked, then continued, “You gave me a birthday card that played the ‘Mission Impossible’ theme.”

Molly chuckled, recalling his expression when he opened it. “Well, we’d been meeting for eighteen months by then and I knew you had a good sense of humor, however you might try to hide it.”

“You kissed my cheek when we left Sherlock’s flat the day after his return.”

“And you looked horrified.” Molly’s smile was reflected in her tone. “But you’d defended me when Sherlock went off on a tangent about my slowness to start getting him body parts again.”

Mycroft snorted, then continued, “The next time I called, you sounded pleased to hear from me.”

Molly didn’t know why Mycroft was bringing up so many disconnected events from their past, but rolled onto her side to face him and folded her arm under her head. “We hadn’t spoken for two months and I thought you were through with me since Sherlock was back. I was happy when our shared tea times started up again.”

“You invited me for a picnic in Hyde Park.”

“But then those few sunny days that gave me the crazy idea to invite you changed to weeks of rain,” she wrinkled her nose, “and I took it as a sign that Mycroft Holmes didn’t _do_ picnics.”

“Once your engagement was over, you eventually became lonely enough that even I was an acceptable stopgap.”

 _“No.”_ Molly lifted her arm and rested her palm on Mycroft’s chest. “No. I wanted you for _you.”_ She abruptly sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, sitting rigidly until he traced his fingers from her neck down her spine and she shivered before twisting to look at him over her shoulder. “I never considered you to be a substitute for _anyone._ I know I was surprised … okay, shocked … when you offered yourself as an answer to my proposition, but that was because I never thought being with you was even a remote possibility. I had convinced myself to think of you as a friend and nothing more.”

He released a long breath through his nose, then urged her to lie down again. Once she’d settled against his side, he brushed his fingers back and forth over her arm several times, then took a deep breath and looked at her. “Lying in your arms that first time felt like coming home.”

 _“Mycroft.”_ His name was a choked sob. Molly slid her arm around his ribs and pressed her cheek to his chest, then froze when she felt how hard and fast his heart was beating under her ear. After a few moments, she pushed herself up and moved to lie on top of him, forearms crossed on his chest, but Mycroft took hold of her upper arms and pulled her higher until they were face-to-face.

“You’ve become home to me, Molly.” He shook his head, frowning. “How can you doubt my feelings for you?” 

“How did you –” Molly’s eyes dropped at the stern look he gave her. “You never wanted a relationship. You got caught by propinquity.”

“I’d been around other women more frequently than with you without feeling any urge to spend personal time with them.” Mycroft sounded annoyed. “Being exposed to your charms on a semi-regular basis certainly played a part in our getting together but exposure alone wasn’t the cause and effect for our relationship.”

Molly plucked at his T-shirt with her fingers. “You’d never have spent time with me if Sherlock hadn’t needed to appear to die.”

“You’re right, my dear,” he answered evenly, “but I didn’t willingly spend time with _anyone._ I preferred my isolation. It was all I’d ever known or wanted. When an insistent itch happened to coincide with a convenient social opportunity, I did occasionally take advantage of a warm body rather than five minutes in the shower.” He cupped Molly’s cheek and gave her a wry smile. “I’m sorry for the crudeness, my dear, but that’s all those rare sexual encounters were. They meant nothing to me.”

“How could you have been satisfied with that?”

“Easily. Sex rarely crossed my mind.”

“I find _that_ difficult to believe. You’re so, um, so …”

“I was never ‘so, um, so’ before.” Mycroft huffed a laugh. “That’s the Molly effect.”

Molly scoffed. “Oh _please._ I’m all right, but you were around a lot more attractive people than I on a regular basis.”

Mycroft sighed. “Do you not recall asking me if I could ‘do this’ - if I could allow you to touch me?” Molly flushed. “I would have said no before the unexpected turn our conversation took at the tea shop. I spent an inordinate amount of time over those next two weeks considering how such an arrangement might work between us and whether we could stay friends without things getting messy.” He cupped her chin and waited until she met his eyes. “Never doubt that our relationship started because I wanted you for _you,_ Molly, although it took some time for me to admit it to myself.”

“Really?” Molly’s looked incredulous and hopeful – and utterly adorable, Mycroft thought.

“That first time we kissed, I wanted to pin you to the wall in your front hall.” His lips quirked at her delighted smile. “When we arrived here that Friday night, I wanted to forget about work and carry you straight to bed.” Molly blushed and burrowed her head in the hollow between Mycroft’s neck and shoulder. “I didn’t know what intimacy meant until we were together. Or aching desire.” He carefully worked his hand under her chin and tilted her head until their eyes met. “Or tenderness or caring or love.”

“Mycroft.” Tears welled in Molly’s eyes as he held her gaze. 

“I love you, my darling Molly, for always.” Mycroft cupped the sides of her head and drew her lips to his. When the kiss intensified, he pulled away and took a deep breath. “Just promise me one thing, my dear.”

“What.”

“That I’ll never have to talk about feelings like this again.” 

Molly huffed a watery laugh at his martyred tone before giving him a lingering kiss. “I refuse to say ‘never’ but you’re definitely off the hook for a _very_ long time.” She studied his expression for a moment, then pursed her lips. “Just don’t start a war or something equally drastic as an antidote to all this _sentiment.”_

A long while later, as their breathing slowly returned to normal, Mycroft tried to shift most of his weight off of Molly, but she moved with him, enfolding him more closely within her arms and legs, then whispered, “Welcome home, Mycroft.”


	23. It's Been Christmas Day For At Least A Week Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was working on the next chapter (which starts at the beginning of the new year), these few scenes that fit, time-wise, between the last chapter and the new one unexpectedly popped into my head. So this is sort of an _extra_ chapter - and a _short_ one for a change! (That I could leave it short-ish is shocking to me as well ... Ha.)

_Boxing Day at The Cottage ..._

Ignoring eye rolls from Mycroft had become second nature to Molly by now. Suspecting that _Siger_ may have resorted to one behind her back was worthy of more serious consideration. Her father-in-law had finally given up and moved to the other side of the car to talk to Mycroft, who was already in the passenger seat. Molly met Siger’s eyes over the car’s roof and gave him an apologetic smile before turning back to Violet.

“Yes, Mummy –” [exchanging another hug and kiss] “… I’ll call you later in the week, but we need to get going now. Back to work tomorrow, you know, and I want to be sure Mycroft has time to enjoy a good night at home.” Molly had to bite the inside of her cheek when Mycroft turned a sudden choking noise into a cough. Another hug and kiss for Siger, then Molly got in the driver’s seat and waved at her in-laws as she spun the steering wheel one-handed and took off down the long drive. She enjoyed the silence for several moments before giving in and glancing at Mycroft. She had felt the weight of his stare so wasn’t surprised to find him twisted toward her, arms crossed over his chest. “What.”

“Twenty minutes … at the car. At the _car,_ Molly!” Mycroft groaned, then shifted around to stare out the windscreen. “We were home free and you let yourself be caught up in yet _another_ conversation with Mummy.” He shook his head, muttering, _“Dear lord.”_

“I’m sorry, all right? But I actually like talking to Mummy.”

“But three days of it, Molly!” 

Molly bit her lip to keep from laughing at his martyred tone. Thank god Putin couldn’t hear him. “Come on, darling,” she said, giving him a quick sideways smile. “You have to admit we had a fine Christmas. Even Sherlock behaved, relatively speaking.” Of course, he’d also disappeared as soon as Christmas dinner was over, but he did at least have the courtesy to give them a call from Baker Street before they sent out a search party.

“I suppose so,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. “At least he didn’t shoot or drug anyone this time.” He turned to look at Molly. “An unqualified success then.”

Molly snorted, then gave him an affectionate grin. “Oh _you.”_

* * * * * * * *

_The next night in their sitting room ..._

Home from work relatively early, a nice dinner leading to a quiet evening by the fire, his lovely girl lightly dozing against his chest, a favorite book in his hand, a glass of a well-aged Saint-Emilion at the ready …. Mycroft sighed contentedly at the perfection of the moment, then toed off his shoes before propping his socked feet on the coffee table. He turned the page and shifted his rear forward a smidgen to settle deeper into the sofa.

The silence was finally broken when Molly softly inhaled before rubbing her cheek on his chest. “Mycroft …”

“Hmmm?”

“Lady Smallwood called me today.”

Mycroft tensed momentarily but forced himself to relax again. “And?”

“She asked if we’re coming to her New Year’s Eve party.” Molly lifted her head to look at him curiously. “You haven’t mentioned it.”

He grimaced, looking at the fire. “Attending it has never been a command performance and I’ve previously chosen to decline the invitation.”

“I thought you liked Lady Smallwood.”

Mycroft snorted. “I’ve known her a long time, my dear, but our only real connection is the work.” His eyes met hers. “I don’t _dislike_ her, but …” He paused and then his lips twisted. “What did she say?”

“She just told me about the party, said she hoped we could come – that she’d be pleased to see me again.” Molly’s forehead creased. “Why? Am I missing an important subtext here?”

He gave her a wry smile and dropped a kiss on her brow. “There’s _always_ subtext in my world, my darling.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “In this case, perhaps there was less of it than usual. Lady Smallwood seems to like you.” He held her gaze for several moments. “If you’d like to go –”

“Not really …”

 _“Molly.”_ Mycroft said chidingly, then put the book on the end table and ran his hand over her hair. “If you would like to go, we can go. Knowing Lady Smallwood, it will be a large but generally … _congenial”_ [he manfully suppressed a grimace] “gathering.”

Molly rested her hand on his chest, frowning as she fingered a button on his waistcoat. “It’s just that …”

“Yes?”

“We so rarely have an evening out – I’m not complaining about that, _truly,_ but -” She paused to rub a hand over the small bulge of her stomach. “The closer this gets, the less I’ll want to get out and then later there will be the whole babysitting issue.”

Mycroft froze for a moment, struck by the fact that the issue of outside child care had to be addressed, and all the accompanying security concerns, no matter what Molly ultimately chose to do about work. Babysitting was not a concept he’d ever had to consider in practical terms – nor in theory for that matter. He glanced down again and cupped Molly’s chin, studying her face. “I’ll call Lady Smallwood tomorrow.” They continued to look at each other silently for several moments, then Mycroft arched an eyebrow suggestively. “Now that you’ve distracted me from my book – _mppfft._ ” The rest of his nascent come-on was smothered by Molly’s mouth.

* * * * * * * * 

_New Year’s Eve at Lady Smallwood’s ..._

“Good god, Molly – va va _voom!”_

Molly turned quickly to face Anthea with a smile. “I didn’t know you were coming!” She gave her a quick hug, then looked her friend over from head to toe, admiring the sleek black evening gown and upswept hair. “My dear, you do clean up nicely.” They both laughed at Molly’s poor attempt to copy Mycroft’s deep tone.

“Truly, Molly -- that dress makes you look …” She stopped, fanning her face exaggeratedly. “Whoa momma.”

“You really like it?” Molly’s dress was a departure from the vintage styles she’d worn to recent dress-up occasions. It was in pale peach silk, floor-length, cap-sleeved and more closely fitted to her backside and legs, but with a softly draped bust and an empire waist that didn’t totally disguise her condition but didn’t emphasize it either. 

“Mmm. These last two weeks or so have been exceedingly _kind_ to you. That pregnancy glow seems to have set in -- radiant skin, lustrous hair …” Anthea paused to grab a glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray. “Here’s to hormones!” Molly returned her grin, clicked glasses and took a sip of her juice. “That dress really does display your blooming assets in a most _pleasing_ manner.”

Molly glanced down a bit self-consciously and raised a hand to the neckline. “It’s not too low –”

“God, no! I’ll bet a certain gentleman finds that hint of cleavage – _you’ve got cleavage now, girlfriend!_ – enticing.”

Molly flushed. “Mycroft doesn’t pay much attention to what I wear.”

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s a man, he notices.” Anthea paused, pursing her lips. “Well, he does _now._ He notices _you."_ She leaned closer to Molly. “This whole relationship thing may still be new to him, but I’ve seen his eyes follow you when he thought no one was looking.”

“You have?”

“Mmm.”

They both turned to look for Mycroft and found him standing at the end of the room, his back to the fireplace, seemingly trapped by his instinctive manners into conversing with several elderly relatives of Lady Smallwood. He glanced their way for just a moment, and Molly looked at Anthea. “Right. Let’s go rescue him.”

* * * * * * * * 

A few minutes before midnight, just as Lady Smallwood began encouraging the guests to gather around the champagne fountain for the countdown, Mycroft placed a discreet hand on Molly’s back and ushered her out of the ballroom, down the hall and into a small sitting room. She glanced around, then looked at him curiously. “How did you know this was here?”

“Lady Smallwood and I have had tea here a few times over the years after meetings.”

Their heads turned toward the closed door when they heard the countdown start, then Mycroft took hold of Molly’s hips and pulled her against him. Molly slipped her hands around his neck and lifted up on her toes as their eyes met and held. “5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … _mppfft.”_

Their lips parted after a light-hearted celebratory kiss, and they slowly smiled at each other. But after a few quiet moments, Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, Molly’s breath caught, then their mouths slammed together, their holds tightened and the room’s temperature seemed to soar. Their tongues thrust slowly and deeply, and Molly moaned. Mycroft abruptly pulled away, drawing a long breath while Molly stared at him, wide-eyed. After several charged moments, she stepped closer and pressed her cheek against his chest, and Mycroft slowly exhaled through his nose, then rested his chin on the top of her head. “Happy New Year, my darling girl.”

Molly smiled at the rumbling vibration of his voice under her ear. “Happy New Year, Mycroft.”

Ten minutes later, they rejoined the party and slowly moved through the ballroom, looking for Lady Smallwood. Anthea appeared beside them, brows raised. “Have you seen Lady Smallwood?”

“Not for a while, sir, but I overheard the butler telling her about a problem with the catering staff. She may have gone to the kitchen.”

“Thank you, my dear.” He glanced past her and nodded at the agent she’d been dancing with. “Now go enjoy your evening.” He and Molly started to walk away, but he paused and turned back. “Happy New Year, Anthea.”

When they finally located Lady Smallwood, she was enjoying a quiet moment with William Haverton in the large conservatory. Mycroft cleared his throat, and the two of them turned toward the door and smiled. “Sorry to disturb you, Lady Smallwood, Bill, but we’re about to leave and wanted to wish you a Happy New Year and thank you for an enjoyable evening.”

The older couple came to meet Mycroft and Molly in the center of the room, then Lady Smallwood took Molly’s hands. “I’m so happy that you came, Molly -- and not just because Mycroft finally had to accept an invitation.” She smiled when Molly chuckled.

“Thank you, Lady Smallwood. We’ve had a _wonderful_ time.” Molly grinned at their hostess, then her eyes shifted to the famous actor. “It’s none of my business –” She rolled her eyes at Mycroft’s snort. “Anyway … I just wanted to say I’m very happy to see the two of you together – I mean, _together_ together.” Molly ignored Mycroft’s chiding “my dear” as she looked from one of them to the other, uncertainly. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is,” Bill said as he took Molly’s hand, before looking at Mycroft. “May I?” The next thing Molly knew, Bill had given her a light kiss on the cheek, leaving her blushing and just a teensy bit starry-eyed. “Happy New Year, Molly.” He gave her a kind smile, then reached for Lady Smallwood with his left hand and held his right out to shake Mycroft’s. “Happy New Year, Mycroft.” He glanced at Molly’s middle then raised his eyes to hers. “Catherine and I wish you both great joy in the coming months.”

“Thank you, Bill.” Mycroft rested his hand on Molly’s back. “Thanks again, Lady Smallwood.” He waited while Molly echoed him, then turned her toward the door. They hesitated after a few steps when Lady Smallwood cleared her throat.

“Mycroft,” she said firmly, then continued when he turned back. “After twenty years, I think it’s time you started calling me Catherine. You too, Molly.” She glanced at Bill, then smiled at the younger couple. “After all, it’s the beginning of a new era for _all_ of us … eh, Mycroft?”

Mycroft turned to smile at Molly, then lowered his gaze to rest on that small bulge, before looking at their hostess and lifting his chin in acknowledgment. “Indeed it is … Catherine.”


	24. It's The End Of An Era, Isn't It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Molly experience the joys of impending parenthood ... in an _extremely_ long chapter, which was pure self-indulgence.
> 
>  _Warning:_ Be sure to skip past the section labeled "The Sixth of February" if you'd prefer to avoid a sex scene that (a) is a bit more explicit than I usually write, (b) involves oral sex, (c) uses actual names of male body parts, and (d) has Mycroft use the "F" word!!

_Mid-January_

“Have I ever tried to persuade you to do something you truly didn’t want to do?”

Molly huffed a laugh against Mycroft’s throat and lifted herself high enough off of him to meet his eyes. Hers were still bright with amusement when she folded her arms on his chest and propped her chin on them. “Hmmm … considering where your hands and your, um, _person_ are, I’m not sure whether to be alarmed or _excited_ by the question.”

Mycroft gave her The Look. “I’m serious, Molly.”

“Sorry,” she said, straightening her face with an effort. “No, not that I recall.”

“I’m asking now,” he said, sliding his hands from her bare bum to her shoulder blades. “Would you please move your things in here.”

Molly frowned and lifted onto her elbows. “I sleep here every night. Does it really matter to you where I bathe and dress?”

Mycroft didn’t answer directly. “One reason you had for keeping a separate room was to make it easy for me if I wanted a night on my own. We can disregard that since I could simply sleep in another bedroom in such an unlikely event.” He raised his brows, waiting for any argument from Molly, then continued. “As for your other issue, I have a solution.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll need to get up for that,” he said, curving his hands around her shoulders and urging her to sit. Once she did, he ran his gaze down her torso and followed it with his hands, stopping when they covered her expanding belly. “Besides, now that _one_ appetite has been temporarily sated, you must be about ready for your supper.” He yelped when Molly took some skin on his side between her thumb and forefinger and gave it a quick twist.

 _“Prat,”_ she said, rolling her eyes as she crawled off of him and scooted to the side of the bed. She pulled her pajamas from under her pillow, then gave him a slow smile over her shoulder. “Come on then. Show me.”

_ _ _

Molly loved the long Sunday afternoons and evenings when they were on their own, especially the rare ones when Mycroft’s phone (mostly) remained silent. He’d gradually become more likely to dress down on the weekends unless he had to go to the office, and more often than not they pitched in together in the kitchen when Mrs. Collingwood wasn’t there. That Sunday evening, when Mycroft had again suggested making sandwiches from leftover roast, Molly agreed but sighed wistfully, which was too obvious a cue for him to ignore. Molly knew she couldn’t play the cravings card very often, but occasionally … well. So Mycroft ended up arranging for someone with sufficient security clearance to pick up two generous orders of fish and chips - and then slipped him a sufficiently large bill to enjoy a _much_ nicer meal than Mycroft would be having. Less than an hour after Mycroft made the call, he and Molly were eating at the kitchen island, still in the pajamas and dressing gowns they’d donned for his show and tell. 

Molly swallowed a mouthful of flaky halibut, then pointed her fork at Mycroft. “You make it sound so easy, but household building projects can be a nightmare. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Not if we have the right project manager – and we will, or I’ll have him shot and replaced.” Mycroft speared several chips with his fork and grinned before popping them in his mouth. Molly rolled her eyes at this teasing, boyish version of her husband, who could make light of a threat that might potentially be real in different circumstances under his usual work conditions. 

Mycroft’s proposal that they break through the wall to the smaller bedroom next door, update and enlarge its existing ensuite, and create another dressing room similar to his seemed at first to be an outrageously unnecessary luxury. Molly initially considered saying she’d simply share his bathroom (however much she’d prefer to keep her own) since his already had two sinks and was certainly plenty large enough for two people … but then there was the matter of his dressing room. 

Mycroft’s _dressing_ room.

That holy of holies. 

His dressing room was Mycroft’s personal _stage,_ no matter how unwitting the role he played on it might be. Mycroft still didn’t comprehend his effect on Molly -- watching him go through his routine, selecting his suit, talking idly to her about the minutiae of their daily lives while proceeding so deliberately with each step of dressing … slowly taking on the trappings of his public persona. Since the beginning of their relationship, she’d hidden her reaction – first from embarrassment, then from fear of making him self-conscious. The fact that he _was_ so unaware of his impact only served to increase its effect.

No, Mycroft’s dressing room absolutely could _not_ be touched to make room for her things, no matter what he might say. Thus, Molly had agreed to the project. Besides, its cost wasn’t a consideration for Mycroft, and he wouldn’t understand any misgivings Molly had about spending so much money. So, an unnecessary luxury, _yes_ … outrageous in their situation, _no._

“I hope you’re good at making design choices because the idea of choosing all the fixtures and finishes involved makes my head ache,” she said, scooping up some mushy peas after pushing aside the preliminary floor plans Mycroft had secretly commissioned. “Just thinking of all the types of _bathtubs_ available –”

Mycroft looked up at the sudden clatter from Molly’s fork landing on her plate and shot to his feet when he saw she was holding her stomach and staring at him wide-eyed. He quickly rounded the table and bent over her. “What is it, Molly? Are you in pain?”

She turned her head, eyes still wide and mouth forming an O. “He moved.” Tears sprang to Molly’s eyes and she raised a hand to his cheek. “He’s _moving,_ Mycroft.” His eyes dropped to where her other hand was caressing her bump. “Give me your hand.” Molly pressed Mycroft’s fingers against her for several moments, holding her breath, then finally leaned her forehead against his arm and released the breath. “I don’t think you’ll be able to feel anything yet.” She lifted his hand and kissed the palm before resting her cheek against it. “I’m sorry.”

“No need, my dear,” Mycroft said, rubbing his thumb over her skin. He lowered himself the rest of the way to his knees and slid his arms around her before pressing the side of his face to her stomach. “I’ll feel him soon enough.” 

Molly curled herself over and around Mycroft, and they forgot about supper and everything else for quite a while.

* * * * * * * *

Two weeks later and Molly considered going to work a welcome escape since the project manager and architect/designer - and their seemingly endless questions – had started to arrive at the house by 8 a.m. They were apparently scared of doing _anything_ not to Molly’s satisfaction, and she blamed Mycroft for instilling that fear. When they’d tried to corner her that Friday morning to discuss the proper spacing of shelves and her choice of cabinet hinges, she’d had trouble suppressing a scream. She’d finally arranged to meet with them Saturday morning, as she calmly explained to Mycroft on the drive to work …

“… and any excuse you might offer for not _being_ there had better involve a _nuclear threat,_ mister, since the bloody project was _your_ idea!” Molly slammed the car door and stomped inelegantly across the pavement, suspecting Mycroft and Walter – who’d been an unintentional witness to her tirade -- were relieved to see the back of her for a while. Their ears were probably ringing, she thought guiltily. She’d warned Mycroft about the nightmare aspects of home retrofitting and refurbishment, but she hadn’t expected to end up as chief frightener.

Mycroft watched until Molly reached the door to Bart’s and was about to wave Walter on when he saw her turn and slump against the wall of the building. Mycroft quickly shoved the car door open and strode toward Molly, who looked up when she heard his hurried footsteps. Her face crumpled at his concerned expression. “I’m so sorry, Mycroft … I didn’t mean to yell at you,” Molly said, lips trembling as he came to a stop in front of her. She stared up at him, surprised that he’d followed her and even more so when he took her bags and put his free hand on her back.

“Come to the car,” he said, urging her across the pavement.

“I’ll be late,” she protested, looking over her shoulder at the hospital.

“A few minutes won’t matter,” he said, then closed the car door behind her and went around the boot to get in on the other side. “Walter, drive around for a few minutes, please.” He turned to Molly, giving her his full attention. “Now, my dear, tell me again about the meeting -- perhaps a bit more calmly this time,” he said, smiling as he tucked some hair behind her ear.

So Molly told him what had been going on, indeed more calmly, then released a long breath as she felt the tension leaving her. “I’m sorry for losing my temper.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry, my dear,” Mycroft said, kissing her forehead despite Walter’s presence a few feet away. “Mr. McGregor and Ms. Martin obviously misinterpreted my instructions. Don’t worry – we’ll get them straightened out.” He cupped his hand behind her neck and leaned closer. “And I promise to be there, barring that nuclear threat.” He glanced up when Walter pulled to the curb outside Bart’s and stepped out of the car to give them some privacy. He turned back to Molly and slowly arched a brow. “Are we all right now?”

“Yes … I’m sor-"

 _“Shhh,”_ he interrupted, then gave her a quick kiss and reached across her to shove the door open. “You better get going.”

“Thank you for staying,” she said, leaning in for another quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.” She backed out of the car, then pushed the door shut and turned to the driver. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that earlier, Walter. It was bad enough to lose my cool with Mycroft, but to yell at him in front of you was rude and completely unacceptable.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Holmes, but there’s no need to apologize.” Walter glanced in Mycroft’s direction, then leaned toward her. “I was actually _impressed.”_ Molly laughed when he winked at her before getting in the car. She waved as they drove off, then went to start her work day.

_ _ _

The next morning, Molly reluctantly opened her eyes, frowning when her searching hand found nothing but empty sheets. She rolled onto her back and stared silently at the ceiling before finally moving to sit on the side of the bed. Despite having had the pleasure of Mycroft’s attentions during the night, she’d hoped for another cuddle before starting their day. Molly sighed and reached for her phone, swore under her breath when she saw the time, and grabbed her dressing gown, pushing her arms through its sleeves as she hurried toward the door. Mycroft had just reached the top of the stairs when Molly stopped outside her bedroom door. “Sorry - I’m running late,” she said. “It won’t take me long to get dressed.”

Mycroft followed her into the room and waited while she took fresh clothes from the chest of drawers and laid them on the bed. “There’s no hurry, my dear. They aren’t due to arrive for an hour.” He stepped closer and bent to kiss her. _“Mmmm,_ I wasn’t ready to get up this morning.” He nuzzled his face against her throat and breathed deeply. “I’d much rather be in bed.”

Molly moaned when he dragged his open mouth up her neck, then pressed her palms against his chest. “Don’t tempt me,” she protested. “I know I’ve been a bad influence on you, but you’re catching up with me.” She twisted away, then laughed when he caught her to him and nuzzled her throat again. _“Mycroft!_ I have to get ready!”

He raised his head, then lowered his eyes to her belly. “How’s our boy this morning?” He slipped his hands between the sides of her dressing gown and traced his fingers over her smooth skin, stopping at what felt like a kick, then another harder one against his palm. “He’s definitely active.” 

Molly covered his hands with hers. “Probably protesting having to wake up.”

Mycroft slid his hands around her hips, then met her eyes. “Why not take your time with bathing and getting dressed and let me meet with them first. I need to clear up some misconceptions.”

Molly started to resist letting him take over, but nodded. “All right.” She lifted onto her toes to give him another kiss, waited until he left, and then headed for the shower.

_ _ _

In the sitting room, the two people facing Mycroft from the opposite sofa watched his every move as he slowly crossed his legs and settled further into his seat. “I’m trying to figure out what part you didn’t understand of don’t bother my wife – my busy, _pregnant_ wife – with unnecessary details,” Mycroft said casually, tilting his head to examine the fingernails of his left hand before draping it over the sofa’s arm. He raised his brows, then lifted his gaze and held the project manager’s eyes for several moments before continuing, “I’m certain I clearly explained the situation, Mr. McGregor.”

Ralph McGregor’s face paled. “Mrs. Holmes has been avoiding –” He broke off at the expression that briefly darkened the other man’s face before it again settled into the impassive mask that Ralph found so unnerving. “I mean, I haven’t been able to catch Mrs. Holmes at a convenient time for her.”

Mycroft effectively dismissed that response when he lowered his gaze to focus intently on the toe of his shoe before shifting his gaze to the architect. “Have you put together detailed designs for the entire project?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” Sylvia Martin said, her eyes sliding away from his and back again, “but I needed to ask Mrs. Holmes about the dressing room shelves –” She stopped and stared when Mycroft closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, deliberately laced his fingers together at his waist, then fixed his eyes on her and opened his mouth to speak.

_ _ _

When Molly entered the sitting room twenty minutes later, she was alarmed to see the tight set of Mycroft’s jaw in sharp contrast to his deceptively relaxed posture, knowing he could pounce both figuratively and literally in the blink of an eye, but then he stood to greet her and the Ice Man fell away. Their visitors, who looked somewhat shell-shocked, glanced sideways at Mycroft, then stood and smiled uncertainly at Molly.

“Good morning, Mr. McGregor, Ms. Martin,” Molly said, smiling brightly. “Has Mycroft offered you tea?”

By the time the two of them left an hour later, they’d agreed to meet again early the following week and bring detailed plans and a consolidated list of any outstanding questions they needed Molly to answer. They’d also been offered, and agreed to take on, another smaller project -- redecorating the bedroom and ensuite across the hall from Mycroft’s room to make it more child-friendly.

Mycroft and Molly saw their visitors off, then stood on the front step for a few minutes, enjoying the crisp air and unexpected sunshine. Molly finally looked up at Mycroft with a crease between her brows. “You know the baby will be sleeping in our room for the first few weeks, right?”

“I had assumed so since you’ll be nursing him so often.” Mycroft said, resting a hand on her back as they turned to go into the house, then paused to look at her. “We haven’t talked about that. I don’t mean to assume you’re going to keep breastfeeding –”

“Oh no, I _want_ to -- at least for the recommended six months. After that, we’ll have to see how it goes.” Molly slipped her arm through his and on around his waist as they headed for the stairs. “I’m not sure you know what you’re in for.” She glanced up, smiling. “I’ve heard breastfeeding can be a messy business.”

Mycroft snorted. “As are certain _other_ activities we enjoy. I think I can cope.”

* * * * * * * *

_The Sixth of February_

Mycroft woke abruptly, staring in the darkness for a moment, wondering what had disturbed him. The next moment, a jolt shot straight to his groin when he felt Molly’s lips feather over his left thigh, and he stretched out his arm to turn on the lamp. “What are you doing,” he asked huskily. He cleared his throat, then threaded his fingers through her hair when she licked a stripe on his leg without answering. “Molly …”

“A _year,”_ she said, wrapping her warm hands around his thigh and pressing kisses to what he now realized was the scar from the previous year’s explosion. “It’s been a year since you were injured.”

He lifted his head off the pillow to look down at her and suppressed another groan when he saw her position. “Molly –”

“Just lie back, darling, and let me see to you.”

“But -”

_“Please.”_

Mycroft let go of Molly’s head, then fell back with a groan and closed his eyes. She continued her careful ministrations, moving on from his scar to the crease between thigh and hip, which she traced with her tongue, then skipping to the other leg and doing the same. When she worked her hands between his thighs and pressed them open, Mycroft drew a deep breath and braced himself, feeling a bit wary of what she’d do next. He heard himself grunt like an animal and tensed further when she cupped his scrotum, lightly massaged his testicles, then stroked a circle around each of them, before gently rubbing the loose skin between her fingers and running her thumb up the middle seam. When she paused there, softly stroking that dividing line, the almost unbearable pleasure of it sent a quiver up his spine and made the top of his head feel as if it would come off. Mycroft couldn’t hold back a guttural groan when Molly bent lower and slowly repeated that stroking motion with her tongue before carefully taking him into her mouth. She held still for several moments, then began exploring his contours very gently, which caused another quiver to run up his spine. When she finally released him with a last flick of her tongue, she again took his scrotum between her fingers and thumb, lightly tugged to stretch the skin, and then brushed her thumb back and forth while wrapping her other hand around his penis. _“God,_ Molly,” he ground out, slipping his fingers through her hair again. When she tugged at him again, he let go of her and fell back onto his pillow, cursing under his breath. _“Fucking hell.”_

Hearing that, Molly lifted her head and shifted on her knees, then crawled up his body on all fours until their eyes met. She lowered her head and tentatively licked his lips, before pulling back to look at him. Mycroft clasped her head between both hands and brought their lips together, and they kissed playfully, nibbling and licking, then delving deep, and again, until Molly gently caught his lower lip between her teeth and sucked on it. She released it with a smack and moved down his body, stopping to run her tongue over each nipple and give it a light nip with her teeth before shifting back onto her knees between his legs. She stretched her arms toward the ceiling to work out some kinks, then braced one hand on his hip and firmly gripped his erection with the other. She drew a slow breath, then lowered her head and took him into her mouth, intent on ridding his mind of any thought but what she was doing to him as she switched seamlessly between the firm tug of her fist and the warm suction of her mouth, in between rubbing her tongue over the moist tip with each changeover, hoping he felt the love behind each stroke of her hand, each pull of her mouth, each sweep of her tongue. Mycroft’s breathing became rougher and louder, the muscles in his thighs and groin tightened, and that moment arrived, as it had every time she went down on him, when he grunted in warning, in a kind of distress, as if his innate manners required him to protect Molly from his baser instincts, until he could no longer resist giving in to the pleasure, to the release from tension - and finally, sliding his fingers through her hair and arching his lower back, Mycroft groaned raggedly and … just … let … go.

After a few moments, Molly lifted her cheek from where it had been resting on his lower stomach and crawled over his thigh and onto her knees beside him. Mycroft rolled his head toward her, still panting, but looking, she thought, blissed out … or maybe _wiped_ out was more accurate. She watched the rise and fall of his chest for a moment, tilted her head to study his relaxed sprawl, and slowly smiled at what she’d done to him. _Blissfully wiped out._ She sighed happily, then shifted around to settle on her side.

Several minutes passed, then Mycroft blew a long breath through his nose, rolled onto his side and slid his arm around her, spreading his fingers over her bump. “How did you know to –”

“I googled it.”

He brushed some hair off her shoulder with his chin, nuzzled his face against her throat, then gruffly mumbled, “Thank you, Molly.”

Molly huffed a laugh and covered his hand with hers. “You’re welcome, Mr. Holmes.”

* * * * * * * *

_Valentine’s Day_

They may have agreed not to get caught up in the overblown sentimentality and commercial aspects associated with the annual “day of love,” but that didn’t stop Molly from waking Mycroft early so they could start the day with a bit of rumpy-pumpy. 

Or from leaving a card and (non-anatomical) chocolate heart on his dressing room bench while he was in the shower.

Or from crying a few sentimental tears on finding a bouquet of white roses, orchids and freesias on the vanity when she went to her bedroom to get ready for work.

_ _ _

Anthea looked up when Mycroft entered the office, jauntily swinging his umbrella, and giving every impression of being a well-satisfied man. Not that it would be obvious to someone who didn’t know his expressions – or lack thereof – so well, but Anthea thought he looked … _pleased,_ and his stride had a definite touch of loose-limbed swagger. He and Molly had obviously started the day off right, Anthea thought, rather wistfully. Maybe she should give David-from-the-New-Year’s-Eve-party a call. 

A few minutes later, Anthea followed Mycroft into his office, set a cup of tea by his hand, and took her usual chair. She continued going through emails while he read the first overnight reports.

“You’ll need to lose that smile before we leave for No. 10.”

Anthea looked up, eyes widening innocently at his dry tone. “Sorry?”

Mycroft stared at her for a moment, then one side of his mouth quirked as he returned his gaze to the earlier reports. When he finally placed that folder on the desk, Anthea handed him the latest internal updates on the current situation. After several minutes, he set those aside, turned to his laptop and quickly scrolled through breaking news reports, then leaned back in his chair and met his assistant’s eyes. “So there’s no putting a lid on the story.”

“No, that would have required a much earlier reaction,” Anthea said, solemnly. “If only we’d had a hint before it broke.”

“Yes. If only.” Mycroft stood, checking his pocket watch as he came around the desk and paused by her chair. “Ready?”

“Ready, willing and able, sir.” Anthea grinned, before straightening her face and handing him his umbrella. “Shall we?”

_ _ _

Molly was at her desk later that morning, finishing a post mortem report, when Anthea called. “Good morning, Molly. How are you today?”

“Very well, Anthea,” Molly replied, tentatively. “What’s up? Is … is Mycroft all right?”

“Yes! Sorry, I just had a few minutes and wanted to check in.” Anthea paused. “So, have you been busy this morning? Did I catch you at a bad moment?”

“It actually _has_ been busy. I’ve already completed a couple of PMs so I was taking a break from standing by writing the reports.” Molly sighed. “Come on, Anthea, what’s going on? You don’t usually call for a chat during work hours unless there’s a reason.”

“We haven’t talked for a couple of weeks and I was thinking about you, so …” Anthea was quiet for a moment, then abruptly continued. “Well, I better get back to work, but let’s have a good long chat soon, all right? And, um, you might want to check the news,” she quickly added in a lowered voice, just before ringing off.

Molly immediately opened her mobile’s browser and gasped at the headlines. 

_\- “Secretary of State for Transport in Sex Scandal”_

_\- “Transports of Delight for Sir Laurence”_

_\- “WARNING GRAPHIC CONTENT: (Very) Personal Training for Transport Minister and Tiffany”_

As the hours passed, new headlines vied for attention.

_\- “Personal Trainer Tom: Sir Laurence Likes to Watch”_

_\- “Tiffany and Tom’s Trysts for Two and Transport Head Makes Three … What a Crowd!”_

_\- “Loose Lips and Pillow Talk: What Cabinet Secrets Did Laurence Reveal to Taleteller Tom”_

_\- “WARNING GRAPHIC CONTENT: Lady Tiffany Goes for the Burn”_

Several text alerts had sounded while Molly was performing her last PM. By the time she’d returned the body to cold storage and washed up, she’d received four messages – one from Anthea. 

_\- I forgot to say Happy Valentine’s Day! A_

Molly sent a quick reply, ignoring the subtext. They’d definitely be discussing _that_ later. 

_ _ _

“You didn’t try to stop this,” Lady Smallwood said late that afternoon as the truth dawned on her. “You allowed it to happen.” Her eyes widened. “Does the PM know?”

“He may suspect,” Mycroft replied, not trying to deny her statement. He took another sip of tea, then his eyes met hers over the cup before he set it down. “Laurence actually does have trouble keeping his mouth shut. There’ve been a few hints in the press, but so far the titillating bits have kept the focus off the more damaging story.”

“He talks because he enjoys showing off,” she said, distastefully. 

Mycroft grimaced in agreement, but didn’t reply. “We’re bringing the personal trainer in,” he said, after several moments. “It’s one thing for Laurence to talk to his wife, who doesn’t have enough sense to understand what she’s heard most of the time – and certainly not the context -- but for him to talk to an outsider about an ongoing operation and in a manner that surely encouraged that man to make free with the information … well, Laurence had to go.”

“I suppose I should feel sorry for him,” she said, “but he’s so damned _self-righteous_ that it’s impossible.”

Mycroft placed his folded serviette beside his plate and rose to his feet. “I’m due back at No. 10 this evening.”

“How much worse is it going to get before he resigns?”

“Quite a bit, I’d say. He won’t go easily,” Mycroft paused, lips pursed, “but he’ll go.” He gave her a barely there smile, then picked up his briefcase. “Thank you for tea, Catherine.”

_ _ _

Molly didn’t mention the scandal to Mycroft that evening since he was home only briefly to freshen up and change suits before heading back to the office. She was asleep when he returned and barely awake enough to respond to his goodbye kiss early the next morning. Over the next twenty-four hours, the Cleeves scandal grew. 

_\- “Fling with Tiffany Cost Laurence First Marriage, Lots of Bling”_

_\- “A Titillating Threesome: Tiffany, Tom and Transport Sec”_

And then a new story line went viral:

_\- “EXCLUSIVE PRE-SURGERY PHOTOS: The Lady and Her Original Parts / We’d Hardly Know You, Tiffany!”_

_ _ _

Mycroft woke Molly before he left for the office early on Saturday and suggested she meet him for lunch. She mumbled her agreement, sleepily accepted his kiss, then turned over and was asleep again by the time he’d slipped his jacket on, picked up his phone, and shut the bedroom door behind him. It wasn’t until Molly was getting a shower that she recalled his invitation. _I must have been dreaming,_ she thought, frowning. _If not, something’s going on._

Molly waited until 11:30 to text Anthea. 

_\- Has Mycroft mentioned anything about lunch with me today? MH_

It took twenty minutes for Anthea to respond, which was unusual.

_\- Yes. Walter will be there at 12:45, if that suits you. A_

_\- That’s fine. See you later. MH_

Molly had no idea of where Mycroft planned to take her – although unlikely, he could even be having food delivered to his office – but decided to dress appropriately for a finer restaurant. They were enjoying another cold but clear day, so she went with a long-sleeved, above-the knee, empire-waist dress in a fine, cinnamon-colored wool, with black tights and knee boots. It was another vintage look for her, but echoing the Mod Sixties style this time, so she left her hair down and added a black, twisted headband and gold hoop earrings. At 12:30, she checked herself in the mirror, then grabbed her clutch and headed downstairs. There was no disguising her six-month bump – not that she wanted to – but the dress softly skimmed the curve, rather than outlining it.

At 1:00, Walter not only escorted Molly into Mycroft’s building, but all the way to his office. When Molly came in, Anthea gave her a quick hug, took her coat, and ushered her into Mycroft’s office with a flourish. Molly was still frowning at the closed door when Mycroft slipped his arms around her and leaned down for a kiss. She returned the kiss absent-mindedly, then pulled back and frowned at _him_ instead. “Yes, hello, Mycroft – what’s going on?”

“You look lovely, my dear,” he said, then sighed when her frown stayed in place. “Can’t a husband ask his wife to lunch without causing suspicion?”

Molly’s frown deepened. “I seem to recall saying something similar the day I came to take you to lunch – and your suspicions were well-founded on that occasion.”

“I’ve missed having dinner with you for several days and we’re about finished here, so I thought of taking you to lunch before going home,” he said, mildly. “Oh - we won’t be alone. I thought you might like Anthea to join us.”

Molly stopped frowning, but still looked suspicious. “Yes, I actually would like that.” She studied his calm expression and decided to trust that whatever was going on, it wouldn’t be bad. “Are you ready to leave now?”

Mycroft checked his pocket watch, then urged her to sit in his chair. “I need to have a few words with Anthea before we go.”

While Molly waited, she looked around the office, then studied the top of his desk. Besides his lamp, laptop, phones, a small glass globe, and a neat stack of folders, the large desk was all shiny surfaces. She swiveled the chair to study the portrait of a young Queen Elizabeth, then swiveled back around when the door opened behind her. 

“Ready?”

Mycroft kept a hand on Molly’s back when the three of them started across the front lobby, then took hold of her arm and slowed to a stop. Molly glanced up, saw his focus was on the security checkpoint at the front door, and turned to see what had caught his attention. She drew a sharp breath when she recognized Sir Laurence and Lady Tiffany just as they cleared security and started walking their way. Molly quickly looked at Anthea, who met her eyes and arched a brow questioningly. When Molly turned back to Mycroft, his eyes had hardened and his expression had smoothed into a blank nothing.

“Laurence? Lady Tiffany?” He said evenly, with a lift of his chin, then tilted his head toward his companions. “You remember my wife, Molly? And of course you know Anthea.”

“Mrs. Holmes … Anthea,” Sir Laurence said, smiling ingratiatingly at each of them, then increased the wattage of the smile when he turned it on Mycroft. “I must say this timing is excellent, Mycroft.” He jerked his head to the side. “Do you have a moment ...?”

When Lady Tiffany was left alone near the other two women, she gave them a weak smile, then turned to watch her husband. Anthea moved closer, pulling a reluctant Molly with her. “How are you holding up, Lady Tiffany?” Anthea’s tone was all sweet sincerity, which caused Molly to look at her askance. Tiffany, however, must have imagined some fellow feeling that certainly didn’t exist because she actually answered Anthea’s impertinent question.

“The press won’t leave us alone. It’s been a nightmare.” She opened her clutch to remove a handkerchief, which she delicately pressed against her eyes and nose although Molly could see no sign of any tears.

“That’s what can happen with packs,” Molly said, rather surprised to hear herself speaking. “Someone with an axe to grind joins with others who are dissatisfied with their miserable lives, their group mentality makes them bold, and then their resentment turns into bullying.” Molly studied the other woman for a few moments before continuing. “Add the power and reach of the press and that mob mentality can get out of control. There’s no stopping it once social media join the mix. The anonymity and immediacy they offer allow people to say the vilest things to the largest audience with just a click of a button, and those people usually get away with it.” 

Tiffany gave Molly a sick look before turning toward her husband. Molly glanced at Anthea and got a discreet thumbs up from her friend. She quickly looked toward Mycroft and met his eyes, which seemed to be focused intently on her … and just like that she understood. He’d arranged this, he’d known they were coming. She lowered her gaze, not sure how she felt about that. Molly despised Lady Tiffany but couldn’t bring herself to enjoy the other woman’s misery … and she supposed that made her a simpleton – just like so many people thought her, including the now-infamous woman standing two feet away. Molly went along when Anthea took her arm and started toward the front door, but they stopped when a voice called from behind them.

“Mrs. Holmes? _Molly?”_ The younger women turned and saw Lady Smallwood coming their way, hands outstretched toward Molly, who stepped forward to take them. “You’re looking lovely, dear girl, positively blooming,” she said, smiling.

“Thank you, Lady Smallwood –” [the older woman’s brows arched] “... Catherine. I’m certainly feeling well.” Molly turned toward her friend. “Of course you know Anthea.”

The older woman nodded at Mycroft’s assistant. “Certainly. How are you, my dear?”

“Doing well, Lady Smallwood,” Anthea said, smiling. “And you?”

“Very well indeed.” She dropped Molly’s hands, but moved to stand alongside her. “Where are you two off to?”

Molly nodded toward Mycroft at the back of the lobby. “We’re being taken to lunch.”

Lady Smallwood’s expression cooled at seeing Sir Laurence obviously seeking counsel from Mycroft and became positively frosty when she noticed his wife standing near him. “It won’t do him any good,” she said under her breath before turning back to the younger women. “I’m glad to have seen you both, but I better get going before … well, before.” She gave Molly a quick kiss on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, my dear.” She nodded at Anthea and disappeared down a side hallway, trailed by her security detail.

Anthea urged Molly forward and out of the building. Mycroft’s car was already at the curb and Walter got out to open the back door as the women crossed the pavement. “Ladies,” he said jauntily, with a tip of an imaginary hat.

“Walter,” they replied in unison, then grinned. Once settled in the car, they caught up on each other’s news while waiting for Mycroft, but avoided the main topic on their minds. Mycroft emerged from the building, and they silently watched him walk toward them … until Anthea laughed at Molly’s muttered _oh god._ Molly was still flushed when the car door opened and she quickly scooted to the middle of the seat to make room for her husband. 

Mycroft quirked a brow at finding them both sitting in the back. “Sorry for the delay.” Once settled, he met Walter’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and the car smoothly pulled away. He then studied Molly’s profile for a few moments before reaching for her hand. “I thought the Winter Garden. All right?” 

When both women smiled in response, he settled further into his corner and sighed tiredly. Anthea leaned forward as if to speak to Mycroft, but glanced at Molly and settled back in her corner, sighing silently. Molly sat quietly between them, wondering whether to bring up what had happened, then sighed softly. Mycroft rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, but said nothing.

On arrival at the restaurant, they were quickly shown to a discreet alcove. Molly waited until the others picked up their menus before commenting. “I suppose you’re ordering a cold dish?” Mycroft looked up with brows raised. “Oh, no ... you’ve already served _that_ yourself.”

Mycroft’s expression stilled and he carefully placed the menu on the table. “I’m not sure what you mean, my dear.”

Molly snorted, then glanced at Anthea. “You two. Don’t tell me you aren’t pleased with yourselves.” She quickly looked over both shoulders to see if anyone was nearby, then continued. “Just how much did you have to do with the story breaking?”

“My dear, I can assure you –”

“Never mind, Mycroft,” Molly interrupted. “You’ve promised not to lie to me, so I’ll make it easy for you. If you and Anthea are responsible for all that getting out and if it was in _any way_ related to my recent conversation with Tiffany, well … _don’t._ Don’t bring me and my petty conflicts into your work.”

“It was _Sherlock_ who found –”

_“Anthea.”_

Molly looked from one of them to the other and sighed. “You know, I really don’t enjoy other people’s misery, even when the people involved are right bastards.” She picked up her menu, then dropped the subject and smiled cheerfully. “So, what are you having?”

_ _ _

After a week during which the story expanded and continued to dominate media outlets and social networks, a statement from the Prime Minister’s office was published without further official comment:

_“The Prime Minister has today announced the resignation of the Secretary of State for Transport, The Right Honorable Sir Laurence Cleeves, effective immediately. The Prime Minister accepted the resignation with regret and stated his appreciation for the many years of dedicated service Sir Laurence has provided to Her Majesty’s Government.”_

* * * * * * * *  
_Early March_

Molly looked up when the morgue door swung open, then smiled when Greg Lestrade walked in. She carefully set the bone saw on the worktable and pushed her goggles off her face. “Hi, Greg!”

“Molly,” he returned cheerfully as he came to a halt beside her, then he glanced from her to the body and grimaced. “How someone so gentle and petite and who’s the nicest person I know can use a saw on a human body with such ruthless efficiency is a mystery to me.”

“Needs must,” she said, tossing her gloves into the medical waste bin and moving to the sink to wash her hands. “What brings you to Bart’s?”

They discussed the case he was working on as Molly led the way to the cooling drawers. Once Greg had had a look at the body and they’d reviewed the PM report, Molly led him to an adjacent sitting area and lowered herself into a chair. Greg watched her careful movements and frowned. “Should you still be doing this, Molls?”

“It’s all right, but I won’t be for much longer,” she said, then sighed. “Administrative duties. I expect to become overwhelmed with both paperwork and boredom.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, with a sympathetic smile. “So … what’s our favorite consulting detective going to do when you’re on lighter duties?”

“Drive you and everyone else around the bend as usual,” she grinned, then shook her head. “Actually, I don’t think it will be that bad. He’s mellowed considerably lately.” She frowned at Greg’s skeptical look.

“He has? I’ve seen no evidence of it.” 

“Oh, come on, Greg. You know he’s a lot easier to be around these days. Besides, you love the git, despite him being … well, _Sherlock._ As we all do.”

“And that, my dear Molly, is the only reason I haven’t _killed_ him before now.”

Molly laughed, then saw him out the door and returned to Mr. Greene.

* * * * * * * *  
_End of March_

Molly left Mike Stamford’s office Friday afternoon, having delivered a stack of monthly pathology reports she’d completed and department work schedules for the next fortnight as part of her new administrative duties. The previous Monday, she’d been taken off the PM schedule for the duration after Mike and Christine Kayser, her consultant obstetrician, determined that the amount of standing and upper body exertion required to perform them were putting too much stress on her.

When Molly finally left work for the weekend, Walter was waiting at the curb. The previous week, she’d given in to Mycroft’s request to let him take care of her travel to and from work and had even admitted to herself that it was a relief to stop using the tube and bus. Her changing shape and shifting center of gravity made her feel clumsy among all the people rushing up and down the escalators and stairs, and she’d almost been pushed over a couple of times.

After greeting Walter, Molly settled gratefully onto the back seat and felt like stretching out flat, but instead propped herself in the corner and stared out the window, thinking about the weekend. The builders were scheduled to break through the bedroom wall Saturday morning and had promised the new doorway would be completed by Sunday evening. They’d delayed that part of the project until the end to avoid disturbing Mycroft’s bedroom any sooner than absolutely necessary. The hallway to the right of their door had been blocked for six weeks by a zippered dust barrier, and Molly was eager to see the last of it ... and the noise and the building crew who were in and out of the house at all times of the day. She and Mycroft were driving to The Cottage Saturday morning and would return late Sunday. Walter was going to stay at the house to monitor the workers, and Mrs. Collingwood had agreed to prepare his meals and to be on-call Sunday afternoon in case he needed a break.

Late that evening, while Mycroft worked at his desk, Molly was reading in one of the wing chairs, fighting a losing battle against the urge to doze. She’d been feeling sleepy for some time, but had preferred keeping him company in the study to going to bed alone. After a while, Mycroft lowered himself to his knee in front of Molly and took hold of the book that was dangling from her hand. He smothered a laugh when she jerked awake with a gentle snore and blinked owlishly at him. 

“I wasn’t asleep,” she insisted, then squeaked when she tried to suppress a yawn behind closed lips. “Well, I may have dozed off for a moment, but it was so quiet …”

“Yes, well, stay awake if you can for a few minutes,” he said, running his right hand down her left arm and clasping her hand. “I need you to pay attention.” His lips quirked when she straightened in the chair and dramatically widened her eyes, then he slipped his free hand into his trouser pocket. Molly’s breath caught when she saw what he took out of it. “Molly, my love, I think it’s about time to acknowledge that we were engaged, if only briefly.”

“But –”

“I know you wanted me to keep the ring for you, but you could wear it now, couldn’t you?” He paused, brows raised. “Now that you won’t be doing post mortems for a while?”

Molly hesitated, thinking of that Sunday evening ten months before and what had ended up being mutual proposals – _Mycroft’s_ came first though -- and how surprised she’d been a few hours later to realize he’d actually _planned_ the proposal despite the adorably botched job he made of it. When they’d settled in bed that night, he’d taken her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger before she knew what was happening. She’d cried when he told her it was his mother’s mother’s ring ... and cried more while studying the delicate filigree band, imagining it on the hand of his beloved grandmother whose sitting room was now her office. Mycroft had successfully distracted her, then less than an hour later, while talking post-distraction, they’d come up with the idea of getting married without any advance notice, and Molly’s ring was returned to Mycroft’s safe on Monday morning. Once she'd overruled him at breakfast and called Sherlock to ask for help, a plan had quickly come together. After the wedding, she’d asked to keep the ring in his safe because she wouldn’t wear it while doing post mortems and was afraid of losing it if worn on a chain around her neck. From time to time, he’d asked if she was ready to wear the ring and she’d always said “someday soon.”

Mycroft patiently waited while Molly’s thoughts obviously turned inward. He passed the time studying her face and could probably have deduced the events she was recalling based on her changing expressions. His brows raised when she flushed and he wondered which particular memory might have caused _that._ Eventually, Molly’s eyes met his again and she was back in the here and now.

Mycroft raised his brows again, holding the engagement ring between his thumb and forefinger. In response, Molly wiggled her fingers until he released her hand, then lifted it toward him. When he started to remove her wedding band, she clenched her fist. “No, the wedding ring goes first so it’s closer to my heart.” When Mycroft glanced up at her with the expression that said an eye roll was imminent, she leaned forward to kiss him. “I know, pure sentiment.” His gaze dropped to their hands as he pushed the ring onto her finger, then he raised her hand to kiss the back of it. “For your information, _that’s_ sentiment, too, Mr. Ice-Water-Flows-Through-My-Veins.”

Mycroft snorted and did roll his eyes at that. “No ice water when you’re around, my dear.” 

Molly ran her finger over the larger central diamond and the diamond chips set within a complicated design of delicate gold filigree. “This is quite a _romantic_ ring, Mycroft … all hearts and flowers.” She looked up at him and slowly smiled. “Your grandfather must have been a _very_ romantic man. Be warned, it’s in your blood.”

Mycroft got to his feet and offered Molly his hand. “Come on, clever clogs, let’s go to bed.”

_ _ _

“Wait a minute.” Mycroft dropped his hand from the lamp switch, looking surprised. Molly placed her hand on his chest and shifted higher on the bed until their faces were level. “When we first talked about getting together, you told me you were a cold man – that you weren’t romantic or sentimental –” She broke off at his dismayed expression. “Don’t worry … you don’t have to say anything, but _I_ need to,” she said lightly, then continued more seriously. “You were wrong about that, Mycroft. I feel the romance and sentiment behind so much of what you do for me -- or maybe love is a more accurate description. I feel the _love_ behind everything you do, and Mycroft –” [she pressed closer to him] “… I could not be happier. You make me _so_ happy – just being with you or near you or thinking about you.” She raised her hand and wiggled her ring finger so the light caused the diamond to sparkle. “I feel honored to wear this ring and I won’t forget that your grandmother wore it first.” She lifted her head to smile at him. _“Now_ you can turn off the lamp.”

Molly slowly turned onto her side, and Mycroft shifted to spoon along her back. He stretched to help tuck an extra pillow under her to support her belly, then spread his hand over it. Molly smiled to herself and covered his hand with hers. “Good night, Mycroft.”

“Good night, Molly,” he said, then caused her to shiver when he whispered by her ear. “Don’t tell anyone, but … _I’m_ happy, too.”

\- - -

Molly ceded the driving duties to Mycroft for the trip to The Cottage the next morning. When they were out of the most congested areas, he glanced at her and quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t know why you were so surprised, my dear. I never said I couldn’t drive.”

“That’s true,” she said evenly, crossing her arms and angling her body toward him.

“Driving in London is bad enough, but parking is the real challenge.”

“That’s also true.”

Mycroft signaled a turn onto the A3, and they’d traveled several more miles before he glanced at her again. “Are you angry because I suggested you let me drive?”

“Not at all,” she said, sounding surprised.

He glanced at her, frowning. “Then why have you been glaring at me?”

Molly straightened and shifted to face forward. “I wasn’t.”

“You certainly were,” he insisted.

She didn’t react for several moments, then snorted. “Do you hear yourself? I believe this is the type of conversation that you’d characterize as being silly if _I_ had started it.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she shifted again to angle her body toward him and sighed. “I wasn’t glaring, but I may have been staring.”

“And the difference is?”

“For god’s sake, Mycroft! You know the difference between glaring and staring!” She did glare that time, then her eyes widened. “You _git!_ You’re deliberately winding me up!”

“Certainly not.”

“You _are,”_ she said, thoughtfully, then the corners of her lips turned up. “I know what’s wrong ... you miss squabbling with Sherlock.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, scowling. “It’s been a relief to have a break from his theatrics.”

“If you say so,” she said lightly, “but it _has_ been several weeks since you saw him, right?” She was quiet for a while, then shifted again. “I was staring because I’ve never seen you drive and you look sexy as hell doing it.” She suppressed a grin when the tips of his ears turned pink. She gave him a few moments to recover, then leaned over to rest her hand on his thigh, gave it a brief pat, and said, deadpan, “I’m sorry, Mycroft. Being regarded as a sex object must get tiring.” 

Mycroft didn’t respond for quite some time, but he finally looked at her and let his eyes drop to her breasts. “You tell me, my love.” He turned back to the road, but after a few moments his eyes met hers again and he arched a brow teasingly. Molly promptly blushed and shifted forward to stare out the windscreen.

They traveled in silence for several miles before Molly shifted again and cleared her throat. “Um, Mycroft …”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry but I need to stop.”

He glanced at her, face serious now. “How quickly?”

“Um, now?”

He swiftly checked the road ahead. “Two minutes, all right?”

“That’ll do,” she said, reaching for her handbag.

They made it the rest of the way without another pit stop, but Molly was out of the car as soon as they drew up outside The Cottage just before 10 a.m. She hurried toward the house as quickly as she could, waving her hand dismissively when Mycroft called for her to be careful. She sped by Siger and Violet without pausing. “Hello, hello … sorry, but I need the loo!”

Molly was about to return downstairs when she met Mycroft coming upstairs with their bags, so she waited while he took them to their room. Half an hour later, the four of them were sitting around the kitchen table having tea – or milk in Molly’s case -- when she suddenly spread her hands over her belly. “Oops!” 

“What is it, Molly?”

Molly laughed as she answered Violet. “He has the hiccups.” She lowered her eyes and could actually see her jumper slightly shift from the baby’s jerky movements. “Look!” She glanced around the table and could tell none of the others could see it. “Do you want to feel him, Mummy?” 

When Violet came around the table, Molly placed her hands in the right location and within a few seconds her mother-in-law glanced up, wide-eyed, and then just as quickly frowned. “The poor thing.”

“He’s all right,” Molly assured her. “It’s normal and usually goes away within ten minutes or so. Don’t you remember it happening when _you_ were pregnant?” She smiled when Violet’s expression suddenly lightened.

Violet looked at Siger. “Do you want to …?”

“Well, I don’t know –“

“Go on, Dad.”

Siger looked surprised at Mycroft offering such encouragement, then his and Molly’s eyes met. “All right, son,” Siger said, smiling as he stood and went around the table to stand by Violet. “Move over, darling. Let me have a go.”

Molly watched Mycroft as _he_ watched his dad stoop over her and gasp at feeling his grandson’s movements. For a moment she thought her husband’s eyes had an extra sheen to them … but that was impossible, wasn’t it?

_ _ _

After a late lunch and kitchen clean-up, Siger and Mycroft went for a walk, Molly went upstairs to lie down, and a few minutes later Violet tapped on her open door. “Are you feeling all right, Molly?”

“I’m fine, but putting my feet up whenever possible helps keep my ankles from swelling.” Molly’s smile faded when she saw Violet’s expression. “What is it?”

“Do you mind if I …,” she asked, pointing at the bed, then settled with her back against the headboard when Molly motioned for her to sit. “Siger and I don’t want to interfere, but we wondered if we could possibly be of any assistance to you and Mycroft if we came to stay with you after the baby’s born –”

“Of _course_ we’d like you to come!” Molly took Violet’s hands and squeezed them before letting go. “Why don’t you come up a day or two before my due date and plan to stay a couple of weeks? More if you want.”

“Thank you, darling,” Violet said, then hesitated. “Are you sure Mycroft could stand to have us there that long?”

“He’ll be fine with it. Besides, he’ll be at work most days and it’s a _big_ house!” Molly grinned at her mother-in-law, then sighed. “I don’t know how much Mycroft intends to be around that first week – and whatever his plans may be, a crisis would totally disrupt them -- but I’m actually starting to believe he may end up being much more hands-on with the baby than I ever expected.” She twisted to meet her mother-in-law’s eyes. “I won’t be disappointed if he’s _not,_ but he’s been incredibly patient and supportive and sweet - _oh god,”_ she groaned. “Please don’t say anything about that to Mycroft. He can’t stand talking about his feelings.”

“Oh Molly,” Violet said, brushing her fingers over Molly’s hair. “I believe so as well. He was such a quiet child, so serious, and dependable to a fault. I know we put too much responsibility on him with Sherlock, but, honestly … Mycroft could _handle _Sherlock better than we could. He always seemed to understand Sherlock and how to deal with his moods and tantrums and whims. He could be so sweet with Sherlock even when he was acting like a little demon. Mycroft always had a hidden sweetness that showed itself in unexpected ways.” They were quiet for a while … Violet remembering her boys when they were children and Molly trying to imagine it.__

Molly finally reached for Violet’s hand. “I see that sweetness in him as well, and it makes my heart ache. He’d deny and be appalled by it, but there are brief moments when his eyes light up and he looks mischievous and his smile is so … _sweet._ There’s no other word for that smile. It’s the smile of a young child who’s sharing a happy moment with you, wanting you to join in, and then it’s gone as if it never happened.” Molly glanced at the open door again, then looked Violet. “I need a couple of favors, Mummy.”

“Anything, my dear.”

“Get Sherlock down here.”

Violet looked surprised. “All right.” When Molly hesitated, she prompted her, “And the other?”

“It’s about the ‘Mikey’ thing …”

_ _ _

They had a quiet Sunday morning … a bit of a lie-in, then breakfast, then sharing the newspapers in the sitting room, followed by a slow stroll across the fields behind the house. They heard the arrival of a car, then the slam of a car door, as they came through the gate into the back garden. Mycroft groaned when the kitchen door opened and he saw his brother standing on the threshold.

The energy level increased significantly with Sherlock’s arrival. He seemed to flit around the house for a while before finally coming to rest on the sofa beside Molly. “You’re certainly getting big.”

“Yes - thanks so much, Sherlock.”

He ignored the sarcasm. “I suppose you’ll be abandoning my lab experiments before long.”

“No, I should be able to continue to help –” [giving him a stern look] “… as long as I actually know what I’m being exposed to.”

“Where’s the adventure in that?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “However, I _am_ off the morgue rotation.”

Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “This pregnancy is extremely inconvenient.”

“Stop being so rude to Molly,” Violet chided, but her eyes were amused. “By the way, Sherlock, have you ever felt a baby move in the womb? Your nephew is extremely active these days.”

Sherlock glanced Molly’s way, then frowned at his mother. “No, and I don’t intend to.”

“It’s amazing, son.”

Sherlock looked from his father to Molly. “Aren’t you disgusted by other people touching you? I’ve seen strangers do it in public – as if a pregnant woman’s belly is fair game for everyone.” 

"I know, Sherlock, but people are curious and they don’t always think about the appropriateness of it.” Molly smiled. “You of all people should understand the concept of invading someone’s personal space inappropriately since you have so much practical experience of it.” 

He looked at her and blinked, twice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

"Uh-huh. Anyway, family members are different.” She spread her hands on her bump and gave it a pat. “You’re related to this little guy.” 

Sherlock’s gaze was focused on her hands for several moments, then his eyes slid to Mycroft, who’d been silently watching them. “Doesn’t it bother you, brother dear, for people to be poking and prodding at your wife and heir?”

Mycroft sighed. “Just admit that it scares you, little brother.” 

"I’m not scared,” he snapped irritably, then turned his scowl on Molly. She struggled to get up for a moment before Mycroft came over to give her a boost. 

"Sherlock?” 

"Nope.” 

"Ooh, but Sherlock … just consider,” she said, lowering her voice dramatically as she bent toward him. “Maybe I was exposed to some alien sex pollen and have actually been incubating an alien life-force with a voracious appetite for human flesh, and all this kicking is really preparation to claw his way out of my belly and latch onto the first person he sees and suck the life out of them.” 

Violet: _“Molly!”_

"I can see the voracious appetite being true,” Sherlock nodded toward Mycroft, “just consider his father.” [Again Violet: _“Sherlock!”]_ “As to the rest of it, I actually have seen an Aliens parody, Molly.” He rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation when Molly continued to hover over him. “Oh all right.” When Sherlock shifted forward and put both hands on her stomach, Molly’s and Mycroft’s eyes met over his head in shared amusement. A spark of interest suddenly lightened Sherlock’s expression and he leaned closer as if to put his ear against her. “You know he can hear now. I hope you’re providing appropriate aural stimulation." 

"Of course, and both of us talk to him.” 

"One can only hope Mycroft’s contributions serve as an effective countermeasure to your usual prattle,” he said absent-mindedly. “At least big brother's somewhat sensible.” 

"Sherlock,” his brother said sternly. “You are _not_ to insult your nephew’s mother in front of him. _Ever.”_

"Oh really?” 

"Yes.” [Dead-eyed stare.] “Really.

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder indifferently then went back to pressing on Molly’s stomach and waiting for a kick, then a move to another area, wait for a kick, and again until she’d finally had enough. “Okay, that’s it,” she hissed, pushing his hands off. “For god’s sake, I’m not a lab experiment.”

"You started it,” he huffed. 

"And now I’m finishing it, Uncle Sherlock,” she said, then rested a hand on his shoulder and stooped to kiss his forehead before he could take action to avoid it.

_ _ _

Although the squabbles were about different topics and the participants varied, the rest of the day passed in similar fashion … through their traditional Sunday dinner, an afternoon walk (the boys only, since the girls opted for a nap), and late afternoon tea … until finally it was time for the three younger Holmeses to return to London. Mycroft and Molly left Sherlock visiting with Violet and Siger – or, as he considered it, being visited _at_ by them -- and headed to their room. Molly sat on the side of the bed, watching Mycroft gather their things. “See? Wasn’t that fun?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he opened their bags on the bed. 

“Sherlock’s put you in fine fettle to return to work.” 

Mycroft silently crossed to the wardrobe to retrieve their dressing gowns. 

“Arguing with me obviously pales by comparison.” 

Mycroft glanced at her, then went down the hall and returned from the bathroom with his hands full.

“You know, if you ever resort to sticking your fingers in your ears and la-la-la-ing to drown me out, I will _never_ let you forget it.” She paused thoughtfully. “And I’ll probably video it.” 

Mycroft straightened from tucking their toiletries into Molly’s bag, then eyed her with exasperation, somewhat alarmed that he actually felt a slight urge to do just that. What was this strange power his wife and brother had to make him revert at times to childhood? “Molly?” 

“Hmm?”

“Shut up.”

_ _ _ 

Their leave-taking was easier and shorter than usual since Violet and Siger would be coming to London for an extended stay with them soon. At the car, Sherlock was reaching to open the back door when Molly stopped him. “I want to stretch out so you sit in the front and keep Mycroft company.” 

Sherlock stared at her, blinking slowly, then his eyes slid toward his brother – who looked equally appalled. “Come on, Molls …”

“Move it, Sherlock,” she ordered. “I need to sit down.” He tried his best puppy dog expression, then gave up and went around the car when her stern expression remained unchanged. Mycroft opened the door for Molly and helped her in, but tried to change her mind in a voice too low for Sherlock to hear. “It’s only ninety minutes, Mycroft. You and Sherlock can cope. Besides, you’re hardly likely to come to blows.”

Molly settled into the corner between seat and door with a pillow behind her back, glad to have remembered to bring her seatbelt extenders, and lifted her legs onto the car seat. She stuffed another pillow under her knees, slipped in her earbuds, then tried to find a comfortable position and to _not_ think about the loo. She removed an earbud from time to time to check on the boys and, yes, there was some sniping going on, but eventually she heard enough to know they’d started talking about a case. Even more shocking, Sherlock’s insults when Molly needed to make a pit stop an hour into the trip were decidedly _mild._ For Sherlock, at least. 

* * * * * * * *  
_The Fifth of April_

“Hey, Molly. How’re you doing?” 

Molly smiled as she set her pen down, waved at the visitor’s chair, and propped her elbows on the desk. “I’m doing well, John. What are you doing here?” 

John jerked his head toward the door. “His nibs is just behind me. He’s arguing with Dr. Denis about access to a body.”

“Oh dear,” she said, grimacing, then straightened her face when she heard Sherlock’s quick footsteps nearing the door. “Hello, Sherlock.” 

“Molly.” He nodded at her, then frowned at John. “What are you doing? We have a case.” 

“I wanted to see how Molly’s doing –" 

“She’s of no use to us now,” he cut in, huffing in annoyance, then glared at Molly. “I blame Mycroft.”

Molly grinned toothily. “You shouldn’t. Mycroft fell victim to my irresistible sexual wiles.” 

Sherlock made a gagging noise, then jerked his thumb at the open door. “Come on, John!” 

"Sorry, Molly,” John said, as Sherlock left with a swirl of his Belstaff. “Take care of yourself, and give Mary a call. If you’re up to it, we’d like to have you over again -” 

_“JOHN!”_

John rolled his eyes as he turned to leave, and Molly called after them. “I love you too, Sherlock!” She grinned at the muffled … _groan? growl?_ … she got in response, then turned back to her report. It was surprising how often Sherlock had happened to drop by since she’d started to become “of no use.” Occasionally, he’d flop into her office chair or hover around her lab stool for a while - for no other purpose, it seemed, than arguing with her about … whatever he was in the mood for that day. She’d decided he saw her as something of a minor-league fill-in for Mycroft, certainly requiring the squabbling standards to be lowered dramatically, but useful nevertheless for helping to relieve Sherlock’s need to snipe. 

* * * * * * *  
_Mid-April_

_I love being pregnant, I love being pregnant,_ Molly reminded herself as she slowly sat at her desk after yet another trip to the loo. Her right calf ached from the leg cramp that had roused her – and Mycroft – before dawn, and earlier she’d had to take the lift to go up only one floor because the stairs made her breathless. If Little Sir wasn’t pressing on her bladder, he was pressing against her lungs. Apparently he’d taken up yoga. 

Molly sighed, then saw the new emails from several pathology staff members as well as other department heads, so she replied to those before getting back up to file some folders away. Handling her dramatic increase in administrative paperwork was definitely boring compared to how she used to spend her work days, but it was necessary and took some responsibilities off Mike’s shoulders while helping to free up time for other pathologists to do more hands-on work. 

A few hours later, she waved at Walter as he drove off, then greeted Mrs. Collingwood with a tired smile when the housekeeper opened the front door for her. “I am so glad to be home, Mrs. C.” 

She stepped out of the house and took Molly’s bags, ignoring her protest, then put an arm around the younger woman. “Let’s get you off your feet.”

“I’m all right,” Molly insisted. “Just a bit tired.” She glanced at Mrs. Collingwood and grimaced. “Sorry – I’m whinging.” 

“Not at all, Miss Molly.” She set Molly’s bags on the hall table, then helped her off with her jacket. “Why don’t you relax in the sitting room and I’ll bring you a glass of juice.” 

"Thank you, Mrs. C, but what I’d really like is to get a bath and put on my pajamas, no matter how much of a slug that makes me.” Molly denied any need for assistance and slowly made her way up the stairs and finally closed the bedroom door behind her, leaning against it and releasing a long breath through her nose. She brightened a bit when she looked at the door to her bathroom. The initial thrill hadn’t lessened after two weeks’ use, and she toed off her shoes with more energy.

Her dressing room was every bit as impressive as Mycroft’s. The _contents_ were simply less impressive, as was their owner. Mycroft certainly hadn’t taken to standing at _her_ dressing room door watching _her_ dress, while forcefully suppressing his overwhelming desire for her … humongous body. Molly snorted at the thought, then patted her bump affectionately. _Yeah, right._

As Molly crossed the dressing room, she ran her fingers over the smooth surfaces of the built-in cupboards and drawers, the front edges of shoe shelves, and stopped at one of two - mostly empty – chests of drawers. She chose a fresh nightgown, then paused before opening the door to one of the full-length cupboards to look at her few party dresses. They didn’t take up much of the available space, but looked so pretty hanging there. She wouldn’t be able to wear them again for a while – if ever, she thought, glancing down. She turned away with a sigh, then went through the connecting door to her dream bathroom … no, she’d never dreamed of some of the details the designer had worked in. It was her _fantasy._ Yes, they’d used the same type of cabinetry and fittings as in Mycroft’s ensuite, but the colors were all her. Mycroft had assured her the décor didn’t need to coordinate with the bedroom, so she’d chosen ivory for the walls and dusky peach for the tilework and Wedgwood blue for the towels and other linen. Like Mycroft’s, the large shower was fully tiled and had a built-in seat. She liked the dressing table and, good god, the tiny fridge set into an open space between the upper and lower sections of a built-in cupboard. Mycroft had said it was for wine and given her a significant look, which had made her flush, thinking about one of their joint pre-pregnancy baths that had involved a bottle of champagne … But Molly’s _favorite_ feature was the infinity-edge, overflow bathtub, which was nothing but sheer indulgence. The sneaky designer, having heard how much Molly loved to soak in the tub, had slipped a brochure featuring the luxury item among those with more standard fixtures. Molly had risen to the designer’s bait and Mycroft hadn’t blinked at the extra cost, so now she had a tub she could fill to the rim and be submerged to her chin if she wanted. 

The bathtub was unfortunately a no-go for now since Molly needed help to get in and out of it, so she headed for the shower after pinning up her hair and pulling on a shower cap. The shower had multiple fixed heads and handsets, but Molly only turned on the tap to the ceiling head, then leaned back on the bench and let the water rain down on her. 

When Mycroft arrived home about 7:30, Mrs. Collingwood told him Molly had been asleep when she last checked on her at 7. He told the housekeeper she didn’t need to stay, that they could serve themselves when Molly was ready, then headed upstairs. Molly was in her dressing gown on top of the bedcovers, which told him she hadn’t intended to fall asleep. He left her undisturbed and went to his dressing room to strip off before taking a shower. Molly was still asleep, but had changed position when he returned to the bedroom in his pajamas and dressing gown. He stopped at the end of the bed and studied her for a few moments before reaching for her feet.

Molly woke with a start, pushed herself up with both arms, then flopped back. “Mycroft,” she sighed. “You are a king among men … no, a _god,”_ she said, moaning when he pressed his thumb more firmly against the arch of her foot.

"Bad day?”

“Not really. I was a bit tired and a shower sounded a treat.” He lowered her left foot to the bed, and she groaned when he firmly massaged every part of her right foot from toes to ankle. _“Mmmmm_ … that feels _so_ good.” She lifted her head and pointed at him. “You, sir, are spoiling me. I’ll bet _your_ feet could use a good massage as well.” She dropped her head on the bed again and closed her eyes. “I just wish I could make you feel this relaxed.” She hummed again when he worked his way to her calf, which still ached a bit from the cramp.

Minutes later, Molly’s eyes flew open when Mycroft lifted her foot higher and kissed her arch. When he kissed her arch again and followed that with a flick of his tongue, she caught her breath and pushed herself up on her elbows. Their eyes met, then Molly’s widened in disbelief. “No … there’s absolutely no way you can find me arousing like this.” She laid back down and spread her hands over her belly. “I’m _enormous_ – you can’t even get that _close_ to me anymore.”

He kissed her calf, then pressed his lips to the back of her knee. “Molly –” 

“It’s one thing when we’re under the covers, in the dark, and you feel obligated to do your husbandly duty –” She squealed when he suddenly took hold of both knees and gently tugged her toward the end of the bed. _“Mycroft!”_

“Stop talking nonsense, Molly,” he said, then hesitated and lifted his brows as he lowered her feet to the mattress. “But maybe you don’t feel up to this?”

"Mycroft …” 

“Yes or no?”

“Oh god, _yes,_ but –”

“No buts,” he said, shrugging out of his dressing gown before reaching for the sash of hers. “You’re beautiful and desirable and –,” he groaned when Molly lifted her leg to rub the sole of her foot against his groin. _“God._ Come here.”

_ _ _

Molly was sprawled on her back, stark naked, enormous bump on full display … and she didn’t care a jot. Being made love to so enthusiastically and with such deliberation when one was eight months’ pregnant was something to be relished, despite the admittedly limited choice of positions – and all of them undignified. She was unconcerned when Mycroft rolled toward her, planted his elbow on the mattress, and propped his head on his hand. She knew he was studying her, so rolled her head toward him, opened her eyes, and smiled. He leaned over to kiss her, then cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her lips. “Are you sure you’re all right?" 

Molly pursed her lips to kiss his thumb. _“Mmmm._ I’m fantastic. What about you?”

“Fantastic,” he agreed matter-of-factly, then kissed her again when she grinned at his un-Mycroftian response. He pulled back and held her gaze for several moments, then finally smiled. _“Fantastic.”_ He abruptly rolled away and off the bed, then looked at her again while he pulled on his pajama bottoms. “Mrs. C left our supper in the warming drawer, so it’s probably dried up by now.” He pulled his pajama top over his head, then shrugged on his dressing gown. “You want to raid the refrigerator?”

“Yes, please,” she said, stretching her arms toward him, and he rounded the bed and took her hands in his. 

* * * * * * * *  
_The Second of May_

Molly slowly followed Mrs. Collingwood down the hall, turned left in front of her bedroom, then left again and through the door to … a new world. She crossed the room and slowly lowered herself into the rocking chair, then looked around. Mrs. Collingwood was unpacking and stacking more diapers in a tall storage cupboard, and Molly silently gulped at the sheer number of them. And they probably wouldn’t last a _month._

The sun was out and shone brightly through the two windows overlooking the front garden, and the pale yellow walls, glossy white woodwork and gleaming wood floor simply glowed. The old cot had been refurbished, but they’d bought a mini-cot to use in their room that would also collapse to carry in the car boot on trips. There was a changing unit and bookcase (already half-filled with children’s classics) and chest of drawers and storage chest for toys. They’d also bought a child’s single bed with night table and lamp and a small table and chairs for later use. Baby clothes, from newborn to six months, were stored in the chest of drawers or on hangers in the clothes cupboard, although not too many since he’d grow out of them so quickly. 

Molly found herself fascinated by the tiny socks, and not entirely because Mycroft had come home from work one day and rather sheepishly pulled a pair out of his pocket - tiny scarlet diamond-weave wool socks, made specially as a gift by Mycroft’s Savile Row tailor, even down to the maker’s embroidered white initials on the side of the sole. Although she appreciated the quality of the socks and the effort involved in making them, all Molly could focus on was that Mycroft had actually told the tailor about her pregnancy. 

So … everything was ready. All they needed now was the baby. 

* * * * * * * *  
_10:30 p.m., The Thirteenth of May 13 (due date eve)_

Molly roused from a light doze when Mycroft crawled across the bed, settled on his knees behind her, and began massaging her lower back. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” 

“What you’re doing feels good.” Molly sighed, then looked at him over her shoulder. “I’d really like to have a shower and wash my hair. I was going to ask Mummy, but …” The elder Holmeses had arrived the day before and would be staying for at least two weeks to help with the baby. 

A crease briefly appeared between Mycroft’s brows, but smoothed out after a few moments. “I can help you with that.” Molly immediately started to get up, grunting as she swung her legs off the bed and tried to sit. “Hold on.” Mycroft got off the bed and slipped his arms around her middle. Once she was upright, his hands slid to her underarms and lifted. 

“I feel as big as a whale,” she said, clutching his arms. “I just wish I moved as gracefully as one.” 

Mycroft slid his arms around her shoulders and got as close as her belly would allow, then bent to kiss her forehead. “You are beautiful, my dear – perhaps not as graceful as usual, but you have a fully formed baby in there, ready to pop out.” 

“Oh god, don’t say ‘pop’! I feel as if I’m going to explode at any moment.” 

They walked slowly to Molly’s dressing table and Mycroft helped her sit on the bench before he gathered what he thought they’d need. He hung several large towels over the heated rack, then quickly stripped and tossed his clothes on top of the laundry basket. He helped Molly stand again, then skimmed her nightgown up and over her head, hooked his fingers in the waist of her knickers and slid them down until they dropped to the floor, then held onto her as she stepped out of them. Molly leaned her forehead against his chest as he reached to unclip her bra. 

“Granny knickers, heavy-duty bra … god, Mycroft. Sometimes I wish you didn’t remember absolutely everything. You’re never going to forget what I look like right now.” 

“No, I’m never going to forget it,” he said as they moved to the shower. Mycroft adjusted the taps, then turned back to her. “I want to remember you like this - in all your delicious ripeness.” Molly snorted at his over-the-top compliment, and he grinned. "No, really, my dear. Your body is lovely, no matter how much you may scoff.” He checked the water temperature, then urged her in before him. “What first – hair or body?” 

“Better get the hair over with first.” Molly sat on the tiled seat and Mycroft gave her the handset. When she’d finished wetting her hair, he worked the shampoo through it, then gently massaged her scalp and back of her neck. She sighed as she leaned her forehead against his stomach. After they’d reached the conditioner stage, Mycroft handed Molly a soapy flannel and waited while she washed her face and arms. She handed the flannel back to him and he rinsed it and added more gel, then helped her stand. When she’d washed what she could easily reach, Mycroft took over and washed her back, then dropped to his knees to take care of her lower half. Molly rested her hands on his shoulders and flushed as she shifted to give him access, feeling embarrassed by his handling her so intimately for such practical purposes and feeling silly for being embarrassed. After rinsing her, Mycroft lowered to his knees again and gently ran his hands over her belly, then took hold of her hips and rested his cheek against her. Molly ran her fingers through his hair and gently scratched his scalp. “Would you like me to wash your hair?” 

Mycroft kissed her stomach, then tilted his head to study her for several moments. “If you really feel up to it and can do it sitting down.” She could and did, massaging his scalp and neck in the same way as he’d done hers. She ignored his grimaces at the girly scents of her hair products. Once they’d both rinsed the conditioner from their hair, Mycroft shut off the tap, then Molly squeezed the excess water from her hair and wrapped it in a towel while Mycroft briskly towel-dried his hair and slipped on his dressing gown. After helping Molly dry herself and put on her dressing gown, he guided her back to the bench and made sure the hair dryer was in easy reach. “Do you need anything else right now?” Molly shook her head, smiling, then picked up her comb. “I’ll be back in a few minutes then.” 

By the time he returned, Molly had dried and braided her hair and was tying it off with an elastic band. “Do you want to use the body lotion?” 

"Yes, please.” Molly reached for the moisturizer, but Mycroft beat her to it, then dropped to his knees in front of her. “What are you doing?” 

Mycroft opened the cap, then paused, indicating her legs with a tilt of his head and raised brow. While Molly undid the sash and bared her legs, Mycroft warmed a large gob of lotion between his palms, then thoroughly spread it over her legs, from thighs to feet, and began working it in, making Molly giggle when he playfully wiggled each toe. He finally slid slippers over her feet, then stood and held out his hand. When Mycroft put the bottle of moisturizer in his pocket and led her toward the full-length mirror, Molly dug in her heels. “What are you doing, Mycroft?” 

He turned and cupped her face in his hands, before giving her a quick kiss. “Indulge me, please.” She stared at him for several moments, then looked away and nodded. Mycroft put a hand in the small of her back and urged her forward to stand in front of the mirror, then stood directly behind her so he could look over her head. “Do you want lotion on your back?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Mycroft reached around to untie the sash and removed her dressing gown before removing his own. He warmed a generous portion of lotion in his palms and worked it into her shoulders and down her back to her waist. He squeezed more lotion into his palms, then massaged it into her sides and backside. When he straightened, he saw that Molly was looking at herself, frowning. “Here … lean against me.” Molly’s brows briefly lowered in a frown, but she pressed her back against him, leaned her head against his upper chest, and closed her eyes.

After a few moments, Mycroft rubbed more lotion between his palms then rested his hands along Molly’s collar bones. “You need to open your eyes.” She did so but met his eyes in the mirror rather than look at herself. Mycroft moved his hands lower, gently massing the lotion into her upper chest, then cupped his hands along the outside of her breasts and slowly slid his hands to the undersides. “Molly, look at yourself.” She lowered her gaze, then bit her lip. “Would you raise your hands behind my neck?” Her eyes widened when she met his gaze, but she slowly did as he asked. “Now look.” He circled her breasts again, then took the weight of them in his palms and rubbed his thumbs over the lower curves. Molly’s breath caught when her nipples tightened. “Your breasts have always been beautiful but now they’re preparing to feed our son - to provide all the nourishment he’ll need to survive.” Mycroft lightly traced the veins that were now more visible under her skin, then ran the tips of his fingers around the edges of her areolae and brushed over her nipples before covering her breasts with his palms. “Doesn’t that make you feel powerful?” He cupped his palms along the undersides again and gently pressed upward. “Look carefully, my dear, and don’t tell me you can’t see both the beauty of your form and the beauty of their intended purpose.” She raised her gaze to his and stared at him, wide-eyed. Mycroft slowly smiled at her, then slid his hands down her body to spread them over the mound of her belly. “Look … your baby is right here, waiting to meet his mummy, to see who has talked to him all these months and sung and played music.” He squeezed more lotion into his palms and circled his hands from the top of her bump, along the sides and underneath, then worked his way in circles to the center before stopping with his hands spread over her again. “He already knows your voice.”

Molly broke in. “He knows yours as well.” She lowered her arms and covered Mycroft’s hands with hers, then met his eyes. _“Our_ son.” 

Mycroft rested his chin on the crown of her head as he held her gaze. “How can you not see your beauty? You’re like a goddess straight out of mythology, exuding fertility and sensuality and strength. As a mere mortal man, I should bow down before you.”

Molly inhaled sharply as her eyes again widened. “Where is this coming from, Mycroft? Why are you being so … fulsome.” 

"That’s not flattery, my dear – neither excessive nor otherwise.” Mycroft sighed. “I simply want you to see what I see,” he said, tilting his head to kiss her cheek. “These are the last hours or days before we two officially become we three – not an ending, but a new beginning.” He stretched his fingers wide to cover as much of her belly as he could. Molly saw a bulge appear on the right side, most likely from a foot or knee, and Mycroft moved his hand over, fingers gently caressing, until the bulge smoothed out. Another bulge appeared on Molly’s other side. They smiled at each other in the mirror as the baby continued to stretch within his tight confines, and Mycroft softly fingered along the edge of that new bulge, which pressed back harder against him. “I think he’s eager to join us.”

Mycroft slid his hands back up to her breasts. “Hold on to my neck again, if you will.” Molly raised her arms, and he again circled her areolae before gently brushing his thumbs over her nipples, which tightened at his touch. “God, Molly. Just look at you.” They both watched as Mycroft continued to run his hands over, under and around the curves of her breasts and belly. Molly’s breathing slowly increased and she arched against him, tightening her hold on his neck. His hands stilled, one on her belly, the other cupping her left breast. “Molly?” 

“Six weeks,” she said, moaning. “After he’s born, it will be six weeks of abstinence – for me at least.” 

“For me as well.” 

“Oh no, my darling man,” Molly said, shaking her head, then took his hand from her breast and kissed his palm before meeting his eyes again in the mirror. “I’ll be sure to take care of _you.”_

“Molly –” 

_“Shhh.”_ She placed his hand back on her breast. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in having sex with a buddha.” 

“No,” he said sternly, though his lips twitched in amusement, “But I’m interested in making love to my wife.” He raised his hands to her shoulders and stared at her in the mirror over the top of her head. It was more than a week since they’d last had sex. “Is it safe at this point?” 

“Christine said how I feel can be the guide as long as I haven’t had any bleeding.” Molly raised her brows and slowly smiled. “Well?” 

By the time they finished in the bathroom and Molly was properly positioned in bed on her side, she figured the moment may have passed. After removing their dressing gowns, he’d spent so much time carefully arranging pillows to support her head, breasts and belly, she was ready to weep from frustration at the delay and from tenderness for him at the care he was taking to make her comfortable. She sighed instead. “It’s all right if you’d really rather not do this.” Mycroft didn’t say anything but she felt him get into bed and slide over to press against her in their usual spooning position. It was immediately evident that he was at least partly interested, but – 

“I do want you, Molly,” he said, pushing her hair aside with his chin before resting it on her shoulder. “I keep thinking about what happens when you prick a balloon …” 

"What?” Molly shifted as if to turn, and Mycroft swiftly gathered her closer to keep her from displacing the pillows. “You actually think you’re going to make me pop?” 

“Of course not,” he protested, somewhat feebly.

“Are you going to ‘prick’ me?” Molly said, vastly entertained by the loss of his usual _sangfroid._

He snorted. “Go ahead and laugh, but some people think having sex this close to the due date can induce labor.” 

“And that would be a bad thing because …?” Molly freed her arm so she could cuddle his hand against her breast, then sighed. “I’ve loved being pregnant, but now I’m ready to get on with it.” 

“Condom?” 

"No, that would lessen the potential benefits.” Molly patted his hand. “Your mighty man juice has magical qualities.” 

Mycroft snorted again, then was silent for a while. He finally freed his hand and carefully slid it between her cheek and pillow to turn her head toward him. “Do you promise to tell me immediately if you feel any discomfort?” 

“I promise,” she said, then reached to cup the back of his head and pull him that final inch forward until their lips met. 

It was the slowest sex they’d ever had, and the gentle rocking motion felt likely to go on and on … and on … if there wasn’t a deliberate break in rhythm. Molly tightened her pelvic muscles using the exercises she’d been doing for so many weeks, and Mycroft stilled and tightened his hold on her hip. “What are you doing,” he muttered against her throat, but was still only lightly panting. 

Molly turned her face against his. “You don’t have to be so gentle.” 

He lifted his head. “Are you sure you’re feeling -” 

_“Yes!”_ She shifted her head further until their eyes met. “I’m fine, truly.” She moaned when he abruptly claimed her mouth, his tongue prodding for entry just as his hips flexed more firmly against her. Molly opened her mouth wider, arched her back as much as she was able and reached to clutch his hip. After a few minutes, she broke away, panting, and his movements slowed. “Don’t stop! I’m all right - I just needed some air.” Molly moaned again when Mycroft resumed a strong rocking rhythm, then gasped when he let go of her hip and carefully traced along the crease at the top of her thigh and worked his fingers between her legs. “Oh god, Mycroft.” Molly’s back arched further, her fingers dug into his hip and her feet flexed inward when a sudden orgasm sent shockwaves from her core all the way to her fingertips and toes. 

When Molly caught her breath after several minutes and became more aware of the state of their bodies, Mycroft was still spooned along her back and obviously hadn’t – “Mycroft?” His face was tucked against her neck and she turned her head to bump him with her cheek. At his muffled hum, she added sternly, “If you don’t finish, I’m going to be _very_ unhappy.” 

Mycroft lifted his head and shifted until their eyes met. “I’m all right, my dear,” he said calmly, but his breath caught when Molly tentatively flexed her hips and he instinctively thrust back at her when she flexed again. When Molly’s lips turned up in a wicked grin, he groaned, then lowered his face into the crook of her neck and resumed a slow rocking motion. As his pace increased, Molly hummed and tried to tighten her muscles in time with his movements. She focused on giving Mycroft as much pleasure as possible and finally laughed in delight and grabbed his hip when he pressed deep and exhaled loudly against her throat. They stayed tightly spooned together while his breathing evened out, then he shifted to kiss her neck before gruffly whispering, _“Minx.”_

Molly smiled to herself, feeling both satisfied and proud. _“Goddess,_ if you please.” 

_ _ _

Five hours later, Molly’s labor started. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love getting comments, but have never asked for them. With this chapter, though, I'd really, REALLY appreciate hearing from any readers who have time to comment. This chapter really was a self-indulgence in length, and I'm planning to write two more chapters. I thought the next one should be a lot shorter than this one, but still a pretty good length, and then the last one will probably be shorter still. I guess I'd like to know what anyone who's enjoying the story would like to see, length-wise. More detailed? Let's get the danged thing over with?!?
> 
> Also, this chapter seems to have sucked up most of my free time the last two weeks, and I finally got to the point where I wrote a new scene, read it once, then moved on. I hope there aren't spelling or other errors, but I'm too tired to read it again. In fact, I stuck in another scene while "previewing" it!
> 
> Anyway, if you feel like commenting, I'd really appreciate it. :)


	25. He's Got On With His Life, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And the two of them become three ..._

_The Fourteenth of May_

Molly woke with a moan and pressed her hand hard against the twisting pain in her lower stomach. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down on it, trying to suppress any further sounds as she waited for the pain to ease off. She drew a deep breath and slowly released it, then reached for her phone on the bedside table. _4:42._ She took another deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and concentrated on breathing normally. 

“Are you all right?” Mycroft’s soft question stirred the hair by her ear.

Molly shivered in response and turned her head until his lips were against her cheek. “I’m fine, but that contraction felt like it meant business.” She reached behind her to grab Mycroft’s hip when he tensed as if to get up. “No, _ssshhh._ Relax,” she said, shifting to turn her head further until her lips brushed his. _“Mycroft,”_ she chided, when she felt how tense his face felt. “If that actually _was_ the start of something, it’s the onset of a long process, so come on … relax.” She smiled when he raised his hand to her cheek and gently pulled her into a slow kiss. _“Mmm.”_

 _“Mmm,”_ he agreed. “Can you go back to sleep?”

“I don’t know, but lying here quietly is almost as good as sleep,” she said, turning away to nestle her head into the pillow with a sigh. “You go back to sleep if you can.” She felt Mycroft shift a bit before he slid his arm around her and echoed her sigh. Ten minutes later, she was about to drift into a light doze, when – _“Damn.”_

“What is it?”

“I need to go to the loo.” She elbowed him gently when he snorted a laugh. “It’s not funny having a hard head pressing against your bladder.” Mycroft sat up and pushed the bedcovers off them, then helped her sit on the side of the bed. “Stay here … I can make it by myself.” He ignored that and offered his arm for the short walk to her ensuite’s door, where she stopped and turned a stern look on him. “Okay, go back to bed now.”

“Fine, but leave the door open, and call me if you need help.”

Since Molly had to pass first through her dressing room and then across the bathroom to get to the loo on the far side, she had no problem with that. On her way back to bed, another contraction hit just as she reached the dressing room, and she clutched her lower stomach with a moan. 

“Molly?”

“I’m all right,” she replied somewhat breathlessly, leaning against the door jamb. She looked up when Mycroft appeared in front of her and pulled her to him. She stood with her forehead and bump resting against him until the pain eased off, then allowed him to help her back to bed. Once settled again, she checked the time. _5:14._ Twenty minutes between contractions, she thought. _A long way to go._

They lay in silence for a while, but Mycroft kept his hand on Molly’s belly, occasionally stroking a circle around it, so he felt the next contraction coming on. When Molly drew a deep breath, he pressed closer against her back and flattened his hand over the lower curve of her bump. They waited through each contraction in similar fashion over the next two hours, during which Molly made another trip to the loo, and then got up and dressed just after 7:30 when she felt the need to move more.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the hospital?” 

Molly snorted as she glanced down at the long, baggy T-shirt and leggings, then looked at Mycroft where he was crouched in front of her. “Hardly.” When he finished tying the lace on her left trainer, she lowered that foot to the floor and propped her right one on his knee so he could pull on her sock and shoe. She ran her eyes over his jumper and khakis. “What about you?” 

“Hardly,” he said, mimicking her with a flick of a smile before helping her to stand. They walked slowly along the hall, then very carefully down the stairs, and made their way to the kitchen, where they were surprised to find the senior Holmeses and Mrs. Collingwood facing the doorway, all bearing similarly expectant expressions.

“We heard you coming,” Violet said, quickly rising to give them both a hug and kiss. “How are you, darling girl?”

“In labor apparently,” Molly said, grinning.

Violet clapped her hands and hugged Molly again, while Mycroft headed for the teapot. “How far along?”

“Fifteen minutes at last count.”

“Still quite a while then,” Violet said, slipping an arm around her daughter-in-law’s waist. “Do you feel like eating something?”

Molly sighed. “What I’d really like is a strawberry smoothie.”

Violet raised her eyebrows toward the housekeeper. “Coming up,” Mrs. Collingwood said, smiling. “Miss Molly has had a craving for those lately so we’re prepared. Now if she’d wanted cucumbers and ice cream …”

“Ugh,” Molly groaned. “Once was enough.”

Mycroft, who’d taken the stool beside his father, grimaced at the reminder of that particular craving, and Siger looked at him, grinning. “Those strange cravings aren’t just a cliché, huh, son?”

“Molly hasn’t had many, but …,” he shook his head, grimacing again. “There was one involving kippers and banana yoghurt.” He shuddered, then took a bracing sip of tea.

“Not long now, son,” Siger said, raising a hand to squeeze Mycroft’s shoulder. “Just get through today and then …”

Mycroft lowered his cup and lifted his eyes to Siger’s. “And then the real chaos begins.”

“Precisely,” Siger said.

Over the next several hours, Molly took turns walking through the house, stretching out on the sitting room sofa, walking around the back garden, playing the piano … always accompanied by one or both of her parents-in-law. She’d talked Mycroft into doing some work, so he spent the rest of the morning in the study, but popped out occasionally to see how Molly was doing. When he came into the music room, Molly lifted her hands off the keyboard and shifted over so he could sit beside her on the piano bench. “Anthea sent her regards,” he said, glancing at his parents who were both reading newspapers. “She said to give her a call if you’d like to chat.”

“I may do that,” Molly said, giving him a smile before she lowered her eyes to the keyboard. “Would you like to play a duet?” 

They were in the middle of a Haydn minuet, when Molly dropped her hands to her stomach and gave a low moan. Mycroft wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his chest. “How close now?”

Siger answered from behind them. “About eight minutes.”

Mrs. Collingwood came to the door, hesitated when she saw the couple at the piano, and looked at the older couple. “Should I delay lunch?”

Violet got up and went to join the housekeeper. “No. Let’s go ahead and lay the table. Molly still has quite a ways to go before leaving for the hospital.” She glanced back at Siger, who stood and followed them to the kitchen.

Molly joined the others at the dining table, but had soup only … and two more contractions before she and Mycroft went upstairs. After going to the loo, Molly stretched out on the bed on her side, and Mycroft sat beside her and began massaging her lower back. Two more hours and the contractions were coming five minutes apart and lasting close to a minute. Mycroft called the midwife, Susan Milstead, who said they should come to the hospital. He’d already changed into a suit and helped Molly change into a loose dress and flats after taking one last photo of her bare bump. “Just for us,” she said, grinning. “Maybe I’ll show him when he’s a teenager and most likely to find it appalling.”

Since Molly didn’t want anyone but Mycroft in the delivery room, they decided Violet and Siger would wait for news at home. By the time Mycroft and Molly left with Walter, her contractions were consistently four minutes apart. They arrived at the hospital less than ten minutes later, and Mycroft helped Molly walk – “waddle,” she said – to the reception desk. They were immediately escorted to their delivery suite, where admitting personnel met them a few minutes later. Molly had been hesitant about using a private maternity hospital, but went along with Mycroft’s request. She certainly couldn’t protest the accommodations, which offered a double bed that Mycroft could share with her that night, and the location just south of Regent’s Park was extremely convenient to home. 

Once they were alone, Mycroft started to remove his jacket just as Molly bent over the side of the bed and moaned. He dropped the jacket onto a chair and went to slide his arms around her from behind, pressing her lower body against him and covering her hands with his over her belly. When the contraction eased, he lowered her to the side of the bed, took her shoes off, and helped her stretch out on the bed. “Thank you, Mycroft,” she said, rubbing his arm. 

He checked out the ensuite and the small second bedroom, called his parents on the landline (no mobiles allowed), took two bottles of water from the mini fridge, and settled in the chair beside the bed. Their eyes met as Molly ran her hands over her belly. “This is it then,” he said, softly. “Not long before we two are we three.” Their eyes held until the door opened after two quick raps and the midwife came in.

“How are you doing, Molly?” Susan glanced at Mycroft, smiled briefly, then bent over her patient. “I need to check your vital signs, then we’ll see how far you’re dilated.” She gripped Molly’s hand when the younger woman gave a low moan and half sat to clutch at her belly. “You’re at about four minutes, right?” She nodded when Mycroft confirmed that. When the contraction eased off, Susan quickly checked Molly’s vitals before moving down the bed. “We need to get you into a gown,” she said, helping Molly to lift her bottom so she could remove her knickers. 

Molly turned her head toward Mycroft as Susan bent between her legs and wasn’t surprised to find his face deliberately expressionless. She knew he was uncomfortable with the forced intimacy and stretched her hand toward him. His gaze returned to hers as he gripped her hand. “They’ve seen it all, Mycroft, and are going to see a lot more of me before we’re finished,” she said, laughing softly. He didn’t say anything, but looked a bit sheepish.

“You’re already fully dilated, Molly, and the baby has moved lower,” Susan said, smiling. “Ms. Kayser will be here shortly.” The midwife helped Molly out of her dress and bra and into a hospital gown, then handed Mycroft the footies Molly had brought. He snorted when he unrolled the bright purple socks that not only had large yellow and pink dots but also lime green non-slip strips on the sole. 

Mycroft pulled the socks over her feet -- “Couldn’t you find something colorful, my dear?” -- then smoothed her hair back and gathered it into a ponytail, before slipping an elastic band around it. Molly’s grin quickly turned to a grimace when another contraction started, and she leaned against Mycroft, trying to suppress a moan. 

“You’ll need to put on scrubs, Mr. Holmes,” Susan said. “There’s a selection of sizes in the cabinet in the other bedroom.”

When the contraction eased off, Molly moved to the chair, and Mycroft went to change. Susan stripped the top covers off the bed and placed several pads over it, helped Molly onto the bed on her side, then covered her with a light blanket. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Use the call button if you need anything before I return.”

Molly chuckled when Mycroft came back from changing and sat in the chair beside her. “I do love you in blue, but that’s certainly a new look.” He glanced at the loose fitting drawstring pants, pullover scrubshirt, and shoe socks, and made a face. She reached for his hand, then said softly, “You’re doing a great job, darling.”

“I’m supposed to be saying that to _you,”_ he said, partly standing to give her a lingering kiss.

Molly’s smile faded at the sudden pressure between her legs and she clutched her stomach as another contraction built in intensity. As Susan came through the door, Molly felt an internal “pop” and a rivulet of fluid ran down her thigh. Susan quickly reached for a towel and helped Molly roll onto her back. 

“I feel like pushing,” Molly said, panting.

“Don’t push yet,” Susan quickly replied, as she attached the fetal monitor. “Breathe in slowly, Molly, then out slowly.” She looked up as the consultant obstetrician came through the door. “Here’s Ms. Kayser now.”

Christine walked to the foot of the bed and smiled at Molly. “I hear you’re doing really well, Molly.” She nodded at Mycroft. “Mr. Holmes.” She pulled gloves out of a dispenser and put them on while Susan removed the wet pad under Molly, replaced it with a dry one, lifted Molly’s legs into position, and draped a clean sheet over her knees. “All right, let’s see what’s going on.” After a few moments, Christine looked up. “It won’t be too long, Molly.”

Mycroft climbed onto the bed behind Molly, knees raised, feet drawn up on either side of her hips, and pulled her to rest against his chest. Once they’d settled, Susan pushed several firm pillows behind him to brace against. Time was counted by contractions peaking, then subsiding. As each pain set in, they leaned forward into it, with Molly bearing down, panting, squeezing Mycroft’s hands, then relaxing back so that he took her weight as the pain eased.

Molly panted through another contraction, then words burst from her as it eased off. “Mycroft, you have to get over the Mikey thing!”

“What?” He sounded astonished and somewhat aggrieved.

Christine, thinking Molly might be referring to another man, told Mycroft, “Mr. Holmes – Mycroft …, women in labor get a free pass. Anything they say here can’t be held against them.”

Molly stared at Christine, confused, then twisted her head toward Mycroft as another contraction started. “Mycroft,” she moaned, “Mummy promised me she’ll stop calling you Mikey.” He grimaced before he could stop it, then held tight to Molly’s hands as she squeezed his. “You have to -” she paused, panting, “You have to get _over_ it, Mycroft!”

“All right, my dear,” he agreed, patiently.

“Mycroft!” Molly’s voice rose at his absent-minded tone. “You don’t understand!” She stopped to groan when the contraction reached its crest, then panted as it seemed to ease off a bit. 

“Mycroft –” Christine started to break in as Molly seemed distressed.

Mycroft bit back a sharp response, then took a deep breath, flexing his fingers as Molly’s grip loosened. “What don’t I understand, my dear?”

“I want to name him Mi-” She broke off, moaning as another contraction started, then finished desperately. “Oooohhh … _Michael!_ I want to name him _MICHAEL!”_

“That’s fine,” he quickly replied, shifting his fingers before her grip tightened.

“But he’ll get called Mikey!”

“That’s all right.”

Molly moaned as another contraction started before the previous one eased off. 

“Come on, now, Molly. _Push.”_ Molly groaned loudly but complied with Christine’s urging, and Mycroft felt sweat break out on his forehead over the next fifteen minutes as he could only watch Molly suffer through what seemed to rival actual torture. The breaks between pushing were getting shorter, and she seemed to be tiring. Mycroft shifted where he sat behind her to take more of her weight against his chest, then pressed his fists against her lower back and massaged in tight circles. He could feel her body go rigid as another wave of pain washed over her and she grabbed his thighs and bore down.

In between pants, Molly suddenly burst out with - “And we’re going to have another _b-b-baby!”_

Sharply drawn breaths from the other women covered Mycroft’s own. “Molly –"

“Stop pushing for a moment, Molly,” Christine said. “You’re starting to crown.”

 _“Don’t argue!”_ Molly interrupted Mycroft, almost drowning out Christine’s instructions, then moaned.

“I’m not arguing, but you want to talk about that _now?”_ Mycroft glanced at the midwife’s interested face and stared at her narrow-eyed until she abruptly lowered hers. _“Here?”_

“If I can talk about doing this again,” she broke off, panting, then moaned low before continuing, “while trying to push a watermelon out of my vagina, then I obviously _MEAN IT!"_ Molly's voice had risen as another contraction gripped her.

“Whatever you want,” Mycroft quickly assured her, throwing caution to the wind as her desperate grip threatened to cut off feeling to his hands.

“You have to want it, too!” 

Mycroft leveled a pained look on the crown of Molly’s head for a few moments, then suppressed a groan and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “You expect me to encourage you to have another baby while you’re pushing _this one_ out?”

 _“YES!”_ Molly’s moan started off low, then increased in volume.

“Push now, Molly,” Christine’s voice was drowned out by Mycroft’s.

“For god’s sake, Molly … _WHATEVER YOU BLOODY WELL WANT!”_

Even awash in the painful wave of contractions, Molly’s jaw dropped open in astonishment as she twisted to look at her husband. Mycroft never yelled like that, nor had she ever seen him look so frazzled.

A tentative voice broke the shocked silence. “Mr. Holmes –”

 _“WHAT!”_ Susan flinched but continued to offer the water-dampened cloth to him. Mycroft took a deep breath, then blew it out before taking the cloth with his free hand. “My apologies.” He glanced at the door, which had been pushed open a few inches, and waved his hand dismissively at Andrew. The door shut silently, and Mycroft started to wipe Molly’s forehead when Susan spoke again.

“That’s for _you,_ Mr. Holmes.”

He looked at the midwife, then at the folded square, briefly considered his unaccustomed outburst, and pressed the cool cloth over his eyes for several seconds and dabbed at his brow as Molly’s grip began to tighten once again on his other hand. He sighed, then lowered the cloth, flipped it inside out, and pressed the cooler side against Molly’s forehead as she bore down. She pushed and strained until she finally leaned harder against him with a tired moan. “I’m sorry, Mycroft, I’m sorry,” she muttered.

“You’re doing well, Molly,” Christine assured her. “His head should be out with the next contraction.” She lifted her gaze to Mycroft and pursed her lips, suppressing a smile. “You know, Mycroft, at this point of hard labor, _most_ women are telling their partners they’re never having sex again.”

Despite her tiredness, Molly huffed a laugh. “I’m not an idiot,” she said, chuckling again breathlessly. “Don’t let his rather, um, _formal_ exterior fool you.” She paused as her breathing deepened with the start of the next contraction. “Mycroft is the most incredible l-l-lover you could _–i-im-maaa-gine … ooohhhhh.”_

 _“MOLLY!”_ Mycroft felt the warmth rush upward and knew his ears and face were pink. He closed his eyes to avoid looking at the midwife, who turned from what she was doing to gape at them in shock. Even Christine briefly lifted her head from under the sheet draping Molly’s knees to stare at him. 

“Way to go, Mycroft,” she murmured under her breath, then turned back to the action at hand. “Okay, Molly, push as hard as you can, but stop as soon as I tell you.” She leaned forward, hands at the ready. “Go, go, go … push … that’s it … doing good, Molly … all right … just a little more … _Stop!_ ” She carefully eased Molly’s flesh back from around the baby’s head, while Molly panted fast and heavily, leaning harder against Mycroft as she waited for the next contraction. A few seconds more, then Molly’s breathing deepened and her body tensed again. “All right, push, Molly, push!”

Mycroft leaned into Molly’s back, helping her bend forward as she bore down, groaning from her gut, then let out a choked-off scream as the baby’s head was born. “That’s it! Here he comes! Now hold just a moment,” Christine said as the shoulders slowly emerged, then quickly gave Molly an injection in her thigh. “All right, go, go, push!” Christine’s laugh and Molly’s triumphant groan accompanied the baby’s arrival as with Christine’s gentle guidance the rest of him slid out in one fell swoop. He announced his presence with an outraged squawk, then cried lustily. Christine cooed back, “Ooh, who’s a lovely boy, then,” as she adjusted the umbilical cord and briefly held him up so Mycroft and Molly could see him. Their first quick impression was long and skinny, pink and wrinkled, and absolutely beautiful … although _“beautiful”_ may have been more Molly’s impression than Mycroft’s. _“A bit squashed”_ also crossed Mycroft’s mind, but he’d retained sufficient control of his senses to keep that to himself. 

“I don’t think we need to worry about his lungs,” Mycroft said, hugging an exhausted Molly as she collapsed against him. Still panting, she twisted until her eyes met his and tears welled up and began to overflow.

“Mycroft … we have a _son.”_ For just a moment, the rest of the room seemed to disappear. Molly’s breath caught when she saw the moist sheen to Mycroft’s eyes, then their corners crinkled and he gave her the sweetest smile she’d ever seen. She swallowed a sob, staring at Mycroft in wonder, and was lifting her fingers toward his lips when Susan cleared her throat and broke the spell.

Molly brushed her thumb over Mycroft’s cheek, then turned her head toward the “business” end of the bed and watched as Susan gently dried the baby, wrapped him in a dry towel, and pulled a soft cap over his head. Molly opened her gown, and Susan carefully placed him, stomach down, cord still attached and pulsing, against Molly’s bare skin. The baby lay flat at first, blinking occasionally, and Mycroft reached to rub a gentle finger across his forehead, causing the delicate skin to crease in a frown. Molly continued to have contractions as her body prepared to expel the placenta, but was almost unaware of the pain as she stared, transfixed, while the baby became acquainted with the world. After a few minutes of lying there, blinking, he started moving his hands and kicking his feet. When his fist eventually found his mouth, he began to salivate around his fingers and within moments his feet gained traction against Molly’s stomach and he started pushing himself higher up her body in increments, briefly resting between each effort. Mycroft squeezed Molly’s hand tighter when the baby’s searching fingers finally brushed over her nipple and his jerky movements became more focused. Within seconds, he was rooting, mouth wide, his goal so close. 

“Let him latch on to you himself if he can,” Susan said, watching carefully. “He’s doing well. That’s it … his head should be tilted back and chin against your breast when he … ah, there he goes ...” Susan turned to Molly when she drew a sharp breath. “Is it hurting?”

“No, not hurting – just strange,” Molly said, then glanced up at Mycroft with a smile at the audible sounds of the baby’s suckling. “He seems to be taking to it like a pro.” 

“You’re both doing really well, Molly – all _three_ of you,” Christine corrected herself, smiling at Mycroft, then began massaging Molly’s lower stomach. “The baby should let go shortly, but don’t worry – he’ll be ready to nurse again in a few minutes.” She smiled when the baby indeed released Molly’s nipple, then she carefully took hold of the umbilical cord and began steadily pulling on it. “This may hurt a bit, Molly.” 

Molly nodded in acknowledgment but stayed focused on the baby. He was pushing himself toward her nipple again. Molly’s fingers tightened on Mycroft’s hand and she moaned when a strong contraction started. Mycroft leaned farther over her shoulder and pressed closer against her back. After half a minute, the twisting, pulling pain abruptly eased.

“Good girl,” Christine said, looking up to smile at them. “It looks like the placenta came out intact.” She and Susan dealt with the practical matters, then Christine examined Molly closely. “You’ve lost some blood, but no more than is normal. The great news is you don’t need any stitches.”

The midwife gently turned the baby to get at the cord, then carefully clamped it near the baby’s belly and several inches farther along. “Mr. Holmes?” Susan’s voice broke the brief silence. “Do you want to cut the cord?”

Mycroft continued to stare at the baby for a moment, then blinked several times and looked at Molly. At her nod, he carefully edged from behind her and adjusted the pillows to support her head and back, took the scissors from Susan, and made the cut where she indicated, then carefully maneuvered back into place behind Molly.

Susan put some drops in the baby’s eyes, then quickly turned him onto his stomach. He started sucking on his fingers again. “Go ahead, Molly. See if he’ll nurse again. He needs that colostrum.” Within moments, the baby was trying to latch on. It took several attempts before he attached properly this time, but he was soon nursing again. 

Christine stood and came to stand beside the bed as she pulled off her gloves. “Susan is going to clean you up a bit, and then we’ll leave the two of you to bond with the baby for a while. Susan needs to record his weight and measurements, but there’s no real rush.” Less than ten minutes later, the door closed behind them, and the new family was left alone. 

For a while, the only sound came from the baby’s suckling, then Molly leaned her head against Mycroft’s shoulder and released a long breath. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe we have a baby,” she said, looking up at him moist-eyed. “I know that sounds stupid, but when I think ... Just two years ago, I’d never have imagined we would _ever_ become more than friends.”

“Nor I,” he said, pursing his lips thoughtfully before glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, “but I hadn’t considered that you could be so indelicate as to proposition me.”

 _“Mycroft Holmes!_ I most certainly did not! It was _you_ who … who -”

“Rattled you so much that you dropped the tea tray,” he said drily as a flicker of amusement crossed his face.

“Yes, well … just don’t go rewriting history,” she said, flushing. “It was _you –”_

“You’re right, my dear,” he agreed, deadpan, “and I claim full credit for everything that’s happened since then.”

Molly snorted, then tilted her head back toward the baby, who had released her nipple and was blinking drowsily. “Dark blue eyes, dark auburn hair,” she said, lightly rubbing a finger over his nape. “I hope both last.” She twisted again to meet her husband’s eyes. “I’d be happy if he’s the mirror image of you.”

Mycroft’s lip quirked. “Whereas I hope his nose, at the very least, is more yours than mine.” His eyes lowered to the baby and he smiled when the tiny eyelids finally fluttered closed and stayed that way. “I’m sure Mummy will immediately deduce the source of each of his features.”

Molly started to sit up, then winced and relaxed against him again. “Mycroft, you need to call them.”

“I will,” he said, draping both arms around Molly’s shoulders and sliding his hands under the baby’s bottom as he straightened his legs along the outside of hers. “The midwife will be back soon. I’ll call then.”

“The baby,” Molly said. “We keep calling him ‘the baby.’ I know what I said – sorry, what I _yelled_ at you - and it’s true. I’d like to call him Michael, but I don’t want his name to be a continual irritant for you. Some people would inevitably call him Mikey, and I know how much you dislike that nickname.”

Mycroft lifted a hand and rubbed his forehead, then sighed. “It became annoying once I was an adult, but as a child I knew it was meant affectionately.” He grimaced. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Mummy still means it affectionately, but she’s promised me to stop calling you that.” Molly ran a finger over the baby’s cheek, then turned her face to rub her cheek against Mycroft’s chest. “Still, I’m sorry for bringing it up again. Let’s go with Matthew as planned.”

“No, if you prefer Michael, that’s fine with me.” Mycroft raised a hand to cup the back of the baby’s head and brush his thumb around the whorls of a tiny ear. “I mean it, Molly.” He cocked his head to look at her and raised his brows. “So he’s Michael Stephen Hooper Holmes, right?”

“Such a big name for such a tiny person,” she said, smiling warmly at Mycroft before bending closer to the baby, who had just opened his eyes again. _“Michael?”_ She whispered, then looked up when Susan came back in after a brief knock, pushing a rolling bassinet in front of her. A nurse’s aide followed behind with another cart.

“Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, this is Angela. She’s going to help me weigh and measure the baby.”

Mycroft and Molly nodded at Angela, then he ran a finger over the baby’s clenched fist. _“Michael,”_ he said. “His name is Michael.”

Susan smiled as she bent to take the baby from Molly. “Hello, Michael.” The two women spoke quietly to each other as they worked, then Susan said, “Look at his long legs, Angela.”

Molly tilted her head and her eyes met Mycroft’s. “Just like his daddy’s,” she murmured, then smiled slowly at the pleased expression Mycroft couldn’t quite hide and nestled her head in the crook of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting so long - a shock, right?!? - that splitting it after the birth occurred seemed logical. So Part 1 covers the "medical" stuff, and Part 2 will focus on interactions between the new parents, the baby and other family members/friends over the first few weeks after the birth. I'll get Part 2 posted over the weekend (I hope!!), and that will complete this multi-chaptered portion of my Mollcroft story. (Then I'll move forward with the one-shot, series format.)


	26. He's Got On With His Life, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mycroft and Molly ... and Michael makes three._

“I am _not_ going to abandon you and Michael –”

 _“Abandon?_ Good god, of _course_ not!” Molly suppressed an eye roll as she stared at Mycroft, who’d responded to her tentative suggestion by planting himself solidly at the bedside, shoulders back, hands fisted in trouser pockets, jaw tense, face expressing … _oh, dear._ “But neither of us is likely to get much sleep tonight. I just think you should take a little time to clear your mind, get something to eat, then come back refreshed,” she said earnestly. Molly was concerned that Mycroft was nearing sensory and sentiment overload. He’d handled Michael’s birth – indeed her entire pregnancy -- amazingly well, and she wanted to get him away from the hospital for a while to allow his system to rebalance, his sensors to recalibrate. Mycroft wasn’t a machine, but he was precisely tuned and likely needed to adjust after the day’s events.

When his expression didn’t relax, she sighed silently and stretched sideways to hook two fingers under his belt and tug him closer to the bed. “Mycroft … you’ve been absolutely brilliant today, but _please_ take a break while your parents are visiting. Wouldn’t you like to get away, just for a little while, from all the … noise? Go home? Go to the office? Just have Walter drive you around in your lovely sound-proofed car?” Molly raised her palm when his jaw tightened further and his lips parted, obviously with the intent of denying it. “Please? For me?”

_An Hour Earlier ~~~_

Mycroft had called home and given Violet an update – _“… 4:28 pm … she’s tired but fine … Molly says he’s perfect … approximately seven and a third pounds … fifty-four centimeters … yes, long and skinny … yes, I will … yes, Mummy, I will … yes, of course I will … please may I speak to Dad?”_

Right after he rang off, the midwife and aide, Susan and Angela, came to help Molly freshen up, change into her own clothing, and “ambulate.” When they’d first arrived, Molly had started to let them put Michael in the bassinet, but then –

“Shall I take him?” Mycroft’s gaze lowered to Michael, who had fallen asleep against Molly’s breast.

Molly quickly glanced down at the baby and then back up at Mycroft. “Yes, please,” she said, restraining her smile so as not to appear too delighted. She quickly adjusted her bra and tucked the blanket more closely around Michael before lifting him toward Mycroft … 

… who actually wasn’t as unaware of her reaction as he might have appeared. He bent over Molly and carefully positioned Michael’s head against his upper arm, scooped the rest of the baby onto his forearm, and gathered him close to his chest. Molly had automatically lifted her chin and closed her eyes when Mycroft leaned closer, and he paused, charmed by her unconscious invitation, then kissed her softly and whispered, “You can relax … I have him.”

Molly bit her lip at the tenderness in his voice. “Sit down before I cry all over you,” she sniffed, reaching for the box of tissues on the side table.

Mycroft straightened, looking pleased with himself, and started to turn away only to freeze momentarily at the sight of Susan and Angela waiting on the other side of the room. He’d actually _forgotten_ about them and turned back to frown suspiciously - and a bit pink-cheeked - at Molly, who with effort kept her face straight. He very deliberately smoothed his waistcoat with his free hand and straightened his jacket before lowering himself to the chair. Michael stirred, one fist jerkily punching the air, then nuzzled against Mycroft’s chest and settled into sleep.

Molly turned her attention to Susan and Angela and put herself in their hands. She’d just as soon not recall that first walk to the ensuite, but by the time she had washed, put on her own nightshirt and dressing gown, and taken a slow walk down the corridor and back and down and back again, she was moving easier and felt better. After the midwife and aide left, Molly grimaced. “This is going to be like having a period that lasts for weeks.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll be leaking at the top and the bottom for who knows how long,” she said grumpily, then frowned at Mycroft when he huffed a laugh. “It’s not funny.”

“No, but surely you can’t be surprised,” he said. “I recall you saying something about a watermelon …”

“Oh, shut up.”

Mycroft suppressed a grin as he focused on Michael, whose movements were gaining purpose. “I believe someone else wants your attention.”

Molly looked at her boys and gave the big one a forgiving smile. “Give him here.”

_Now ~~~_

“Please? For me?”

Mycroft silently stared at Molly, then his weight shifted forward and she could actually see the tension start to drain out of his body. “All right, my dear. Just for a while.” He dropped onto the chair, stretched his legs out and slumped back with a sigh, then yawned and rubbed his face with both hands. He watched the baby, who was staring at Molly as he nursed, seemingly fascinated by the faces she was making at him. “Today’s been much harder on you. I don’t know how you can be so alert.”

“One of the mysteries of motherhood, I suppose.” Molly wrinkled her nose at Michael, then smoothed his eyebrows with her forefinger. She lowered her hand with a sigh and looked at Mycroft. “You do know my proper milk hasn’t even come in yet? This is still colostrum. I’m bracing myself for my breasts to blow up to the size of udders in the next day or so.”

Mycroft gave her a skeptical look, then sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his legs, and stretched his neck from side to side.

“Okay, maybe not udder size, but I’ve read and heard some horror stories,” she said, grimacing. “My supply and Michael’s demand should synchronize after a while, but I’m expecting some messy times ahead.” She tilted her head to consider him more closely. “Honestly, Mycroft, I just hope the _ick_ factor from all this won’t put you off me entirely.”

Mycroft snorted, then rose and stretched his arms overhead, yawning again. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need to have a word with Andrew.” When Mycroft returned about ten minutes later, Michael was blinking drowsily and Molly appeared close to following his example. “Molly,” he said softly, then continued when her eyes opened wider, “let me take Michael.” Mycroft took care of changing Michael’s diaper, keeping his tally ahead of Molly’s. His natural deliberation and thoroughness made him a whiz at ensuring the baby was properly cleaned and dried before putting the fresh diaper on. 

They were quiet for a while after that … Mycroft and Michael back in the chair, Molly on her side in the bed watching them, as they waited for the senior Holmeses to arrive. “I don’t suppose you’d let me take a photo.”

Mycroft looked up, an instinctive “no” on his lips, then paused, studying his wife’s hopeful expression. After a few moments, he sighed, resigned. “Fine, but just for us. No sharing by email or texts or any sort of social media.”

“I may make a print for Mummy and Dad.”

“Fine. Hard copy only.”

“Fine,” she said, mimicking his clipped tone, but she was thrilled. “Two then – one looking at the camera, one looking at Michael.”

Sigh. “Fine.”

“Mycroft …”

“I said ‘fine.’ Go ahead.”

“All right,” she said, holding her phone up, then she frowned. “Is that Ice Man expression what you want Michael to see when he looks at this someday? It doesn’t exactly scream, _‘Son, I assure you I expressed the optimum level of enthusiasm at your birth without drifting too far into the murky waters of sentimentality.’_ Try again.” When Mycroft’s expression softened with amusement at Molly’s version of his voice, she quickly took the photo. “Gotcha!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked down at Michael. “As you will one day learn, son, your mummy can be a bit of a nutter,” he murmured, “and occasionally a nuisance as well.”

Molly laughed and took another photo while he and the baby were focused on each other, then quickly shoved the phone under her pillows. “There. Done. _Thankyouverymuch.”_

Several soft raps on the door announced the arrival of their visitors. As the door slowly opened, Molly quickly glanced down to make sure she was covered, then smiled brightly and waved them in, pointing exaggeratedly at Mycroft holding the baby.

“What beautiful flowers!” Violet said, briefly pausing by a large vase of white roses, freesias and orchids in the sitting area, then continued across the room. _“Awww,”_ she crooned softly as she bent to stare at the sleeping baby, then straightened and gently ran her hand over Mycroft’s hair before kissing his forehead. “He’s adorable, my dear,” she said as she turned toward the bed and stooped to kiss her daughter-in-law’s cheek.

“Which one of them?” Molly said, smiling at Mycroft, before looking at Siger on the other side of the bed and patting the mattress. “Have a seat, Dad.”

“Both, of course.” Violet indicated her side of the bed with a flick of a finger and raised brows.

“Please sit, Mummy.” Molly turned back to Siger. “So, Dad, three generations of Holmes men. What do you think?”

“Aw, Molly,” he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You’ve made this Holmes man very happy.”

“So how are you feeling, my darling girl?” Violet straightened the lapel on Molly’s dressing gown, then fussed with the bedcovers.

“Sore. A bit tired. Extremely thankful for my husband’s wonderful support.” He looked up at that, grimacing. _“Yes,_ Mycroft - you’ve been _brilliant.”_ Molly’s gaze shifted back to Violet. “And over the moon at having Michael with us.”

“All went well?”

“No problems at all - other than the usual hours and hours of painful labor that I’ll be sure to recall in _excruciating_ detail if Michael ever turns into a bratty teenager.” Her parents-in-law laughed. “No, I’m doing really well. Michael, as you can see, is perfect. Your son, as always, has been an absolute rock … although he’s currently in danger of suffering a few hairline cracks. I’ve finally convinced him to take some quiet time for himself while you’re here.”

“Oh! That’s a good idea, Mycroft,” Violet exclaimed. “Yes, _do_ that.”

Mycroft leveled a dubious stare on his mother, then shifted his gaze to consider his dad’s amused expression, briefly met Molly’s equally amused eyes, and turned back to Violet. “Your concern for my mental health is heartening, Mummy. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in taking my place here with Michael …?”

Violet huffed. “Well, of _course_ I’m eager to get my hands on my grandson, but I still think it will do you good to have some time to yourself after all the commotion of today.” She leaned forward and squeezed Mycroft’s knee. “Truly, son, _go._ We’ll be here until you return.”

Mycroft’s gaze shifted to Molly, then he dropped his gaze to the baby. After a few moments, he lowered his head to press his lips against Michael’s forehead, then rose carefully, lifted his chin toward his mother and raised his brows. When Violet moved from the bed to the chair, Mycroft gently placed Michael in her arms, then straightened up, pressing his hands to the small of his back with a low grunt.

Molly noticed the gesture with concern and looked from Violet to Siger. “Mycroft has been a wonderful support emotionally, but he provided great _physical_ support today as well. He literally had to put his back into it.”

“I’m fine, my dear.” Mycroft stretched his arms overhead and twisted one way then the other. “It’s just some tightness I need to work out.” He lowered his arms and looked at Molly, whose intent stare carried a reminder of an earlier conversation when she tilted her head a smidgen toward Siger, then toward Violet. Mycroft’s chin lifted in acknowledgment, then he turned to his father. “So, Dad … are you going to be Granddad or Grandpa or …?” 

When Mycroft and Siger crossed the room to the sofa in the sitting area, Violet shifted Michael so he was lying against her shoulder, settled more comfortably in the chair, and began what felt to Molly like an interrogation about the birth – kindly meant, but the questions kept coming until Michael stirred, which opened a new line of inquiry once Molly began nursing him. She knew Violet was both interested and concerned, so Molly took all the questioning, along with some well-intended advice, in good spirits. 

It was 7:30 by the time Mycroft left with Walter. Molly had been brought a dinner tray and was picking at it without eating much despite the food being well-prepared.

“Aren’t you hungry, dear? You really do need to eat to keep your strength up,” Violet said, sitting on the side of the bed again. “Is there something else you’d like? We could order a takeaway.”

“Or we could call Mrs. Collingwood and ask her to send something back with Mycroft,” Siger suggested, looking up from Michael who was sleeping in his arms. He’d pulled another armchair over from the sitting area. “We had some lovely sausage rolls before we left the house.”

“Thank you,” Molly said, “but I can eat this.” She tried a spoonful of vegetable bean soup, then took a bite of shepherd’s pie. “This is actually pretty good.” She sat straighter and tucked in, eyeing the apple-walnut dumpling for afters more enthusiastically. There was even a small bar of name-brand chocolate.

“I should hope so,” Violet said, “considering what they must be charging for everything here.”

“Violet,” Siger chided.

Molly took a sip of water, then looked at her mother-in-law. “It’s best not to think about that, Mummy. Mycroft wanted me to come here and I was happy enough to agree since he rarely makes such requests.” She picked up her fork again, then paused. “The maternity care has been outstanding. I don’t know if it’s worth all the additional cost, but it’s what Mycroft wanted so …” She ate some more shepherd’s pie, then dropped her fork in surprise when the door suddenly opened and another visitor strode in, trailed by a nurse’s aide who was obviously trying to stop him.

 _“Sir!_ You can’t just –”

“It’s all right, Angela,” Molly said, soothingly, “he’s my brother-in-law.” She smiled until Angela left, then turned a frown on Sherlock. “So? You’ve decided you’re interested in your nephew after all?” She squawked inelegantly when Sherlock marched toward the bed and swooped down to give her a noisy kiss on the forehead, almost overturning her dinner tray in the process. “Get _off!_ What’s got into you?”

Sherlock bowed extravagantly, then perched on the side of the bed, causing his mother to move to the chair. “Familial devotion, sister dear,” he said, reaching out to pluck the chocolate bar off the tray. “You’re aware of the concept?” 

“Give me that!” Molly slapped his arm. “I _want_ that chocolate!”

“Children, children,” Violet chided, getting up to cuff Sherlock’s ear and take back the candy. “What a fine example for Michael!”

 _“Michael?_ Is _that_ what you’re calling him?”

“And what may I ask is wrong with Michael?” Molly’s breasts rose in indignation.

“The name lacks a certain flair,” he quipped, pulling a foot onto the bed.

“Get your dirty shoe off the bed at once,” Violet ordered, then turned toward Siger in exasperation. “Would you do something about your son?”

Siger returned her look calmly. “I’d rather deal with my grandson. He at least offers some hope for the next generation.”

Molly looked from one of them to the other, then stared at Michael. “Oh my god. He’s another Holmes boy.” She raised her eyes to Siger’s. “No offense, Dad.”

“Believe me, darling girl, none taken.” 

By the time Mycroft returned an hour later, the _children_ had been sorted, the infant was asleep in the arms of his uncle, and the grandparents had retreated to the second bedroom for a few minutes of much needed peace.

“Hard luck, Molly – he’s come back.”

Mycroft noted his son’s sleeping form while ignoring Sherlock’s jibe and strode across the room to the far side of the bed. He rested his hand on Molly’s shoulder, fingertips brushing bare skin, and his eyes warmed as they met hers. “Did he run the parents off?”

“Only to the other bedroom,” Molly said, raising her hand to cover his. Her lips curved, then she glanced at Sherlock. “He’s been a bit not good.” She ignored Sherlock’s snort and stared up at Mycroft, questioning him silently. _Better?_

 _Better._ Mycroft smiled briefly, then slipped his hand from under hers and dropped into the chair Siger had placed on that side of the bed. He studied Sherlock for several moments, then looked back at Molly, satisfied that his brother was on as even a keel as he ever was. “Do I need to eject him?”

Molly glanced at Sherlock and sighed dramatically. “Oh, let him stay. I’d hate to disturb Michael.”

Sherlock scoffed, then fixed his eyes on Mycroft, who was staring at him just as deliberately. Molly eventually cleared her throat to interrupt whatever silent communication the brothers were having, and they both turned to look at her. “You could at least argue out loud so I don’t have to try to deduce what you’re saying.”

Mycroft’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You didn’t miss anything of importance, my dear. Sherlock simply assured me I’m a bloody autocrat and control freak and I confirmed he’s a complete and unmitigated arse. Wasn’t that the crux of the conversation, little brother?”

“You forgot the part where I also called you a -”

“Here come Mummy and Dad,” Molly interrupted brightly when the bedroom door opened.

Violet and Siger left soon after and took Sherlock with them. Once they were alone, Mycroft sat on the bed and leaned over Michael to give Molly a soft, slow kiss, which gradually deepened as he took his time with it. He finally pulled back, then smoothed a few stray hairs off her forehead. “I love you, Molly.”

Molly stared at him, flush-cheeked and wide-eyed. “What brought that on?”

“It’s been too long since I said it,” Mycroft said with a smile, then he flipped the blanket away from Michael’s right foot and brought the sole to his lips. The baby’s suckling paused for a moment before returning to its slow, even rhythm.

“I love you, too,” Molly said softly, running her fingers through his hair. She nestled deeper into her pillows when he sat up to remove his jacket and toe his shoes off, then swung his legs onto the bed and stretched out on his side, an arm folded under his head. “There’s plenty of room for me to shift over.”

“This is fine for now,” he said, then unexpectedly placed his hand on Molly’s stomach.

 _“Don’t,”_ she protested. “My belly’s blubbery and looks like a giant deflated balloon.”

He raised up onto his elbow. “I’ll have to see that.”

“No, you won’t.”

“It can wait until we get home.” He lay back down, then smiled to himself at Molly’s muttered _“you won’t.”_

Michael was asleep at Molly’s breast and she was lightly dozing, holding Mycroft’s hand, when the night-duty midwife came in after a brief knock on the door. Margaret took an abrupt step back when Mycroft went from reclining to standing in one swift move, looking like he was braced for a fight. His shoulders dropped and his hands relaxed after a moment, but Margaret didn’t feel that reassured.

“Mr. Holmes? I’m Margaret Whitmeyer, one of the midwives. I need to check on Mrs. Holmes and the baby.”

Mycroft turned away to put on his shoes, then leaned over Molly and touched her shoulder. “Molly?” When her lids fluttered open, he continued, “The midwife’s here.” Mycroft sat in the chair and picked up a newspaper while Margaret introduced herself to Molly and took Michael from her. He glanced their way from time to time to see if he could be of any assistance, but finally buried his face in the paper when he heard what they were discussing. There were _some_ details he’d just as soon avoid.

Twenty minutes later, when it sounded as if they were about to finish, Mycroft sat up straighter and lowered the paper. Molly saw the movement out of the corner of her eye and turned toward him, brows raised. Her lips quirked when the midwife started offering breastfeeding advice. As she talked about the “let down,” Margaret’s gaze followed Molly’s, and Mycroft couldn’t retreat behind the paper again without feeling like a craven coward. He rose from the chair and casually strolled around the bed to join them, hands in his trouser pockets … the very picture of a modern man completely at ease with discussing lactation issues. Molly dutifully suppressed an eye roll and turned back to Margaret.

~~~~~ 

At six o’clock the next morning, after yet another “quick check” by a staff member, Mycroft got a shower and dressed in a fresh suit before taking a fussy Michael from Molly for a nappy change. When they were settled in the chair and the baby seemed content with life once again, Mycroft looked at Molly. “If after this morning’s visit Ms. Kayser says there are no medical reasons for you and Michael to stay another night, I agree with you about going home today. You’ll have more than enough people prepared to keep you from overdoing things – by force if necessary, knowing my mother.”

As expected, neither of them had been able to sleep. Not only did Michael need frequent feeding, but various nursing staff kept checking on them throughout the night. Not every interruption involved actual personal interaction, but while Molly may have been able to doze through the door silently opening and closing, it put Mycroft’s nerves on edge to have strangers popping their heads in unexpectedly. She was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t erected a barricade across the door by 3 a.m.

“You should go to the office this morning - _hold on,”_ she insisted when he started to refuse, “I’m sure there’ll be no reason why Michael and I can’t go home this afternoon, so this morning will likely be a case of biding our time. Christine, Susan and others will be coming to check on our progress, but you know we’re both doing well. If you’ll go to the office, I’ll get some visitors out of the way.” She stopped and blew out a long breath. “That sounded terrible, but I do want to let some of our friends see the baby and would just as soon get them in and out today if they’re available. They could meet Michael and have a quick visit with me without feeling the need to stay for very long, and _you_ could avoid having to make small talk after a night with no sleep.” She gave him a hard stare under her brows. “But I _will_ be inviting some people to the house within the next month, which likely means in the evenings or on weekends for those who work.”

Mycroft settled lower on his spine and stretched his legs out, then crossed his ankles. “I’ll go to the office for a while then, but I expect you to call if there’s anything I need to know about or if there’s anything I can do for you.” He raised his brows until Molly nodded. “Who will you ask to come?”

“The Watsons, Mike Stamford, Meena … Greg Lestrade if he seems interested,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Maybe you could let Anthea take a break and come over?”

“Would you like Anthea to come for lunch? I could order in something you’d like better than what the hospital offers.”

“If that suits Anthea, it sounds good to me,” Molly said, brightening at the thought of both seeing her friend and having a tastier lunch. “Thank you, Mycroft.” 

Mycroft leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. Molly shifted to her side and lay quietly for a while, enjoying the companionable silence. But then her thoughts started wandering and she considered the bombshell she’d set off while delivering Michael and wondered when she ought to raise the subject again, but then again it wasn’t as if there was any hurry to talk about it, all things considered -

“You might as well ask me whatever it is,” Mycroft said, without opening his eyes. When Molly didn’t say anything, he raised his lids partway and peered at her without lifting his head. “What’s got you in a tizzy?”

“I’m not,” Molly huffed. 

“Good,” he said, closing his eyes again, and waited. _Three, two, one ..._

“Mycroft …”

“Hmm?”

“About what I said yesterday … um, you know, about another baby –”

“The only surprise about your raising that issue was the timing and location,” Mycroft said, lips curving as he recalled the moment, then he huffed a laugh. “Only you, my love, would talk about having a second baby while birthing the first.”

“So you have no problem with …?”

Mycroft opened his eyes and sat straighter, glancing down at Michael before meeting Molly’s eyes. “I have no problem with the idea of our having another child as long as your health wouldn’t be an issue.” He raised his brows. “You weren’t thinking of trying again soon, were you? I believe additional risks are involved for both mother and child from pregnancies being spaced too closely.”

“There are, but people have children closely spaced all the time without any problems. There are also added risks involved as the mother’s age increases.” Molly shook her head and stretched her hand toward Mycroft, waiting until he leaned forward to clasp it. “We don’t have to consider any of that now. I’m not wanting to get pregnant again soon. I just wanted to know that you’d be open to the idea.” She smiled and let go of his hand. “Although …”

“Although what,” he frowned.

“Breastfeeding is supposed to delay the restart of ovulation, maybe as long as six months, but there’s no guarantee. Women can get pregnant within months of giving birth, so we’ll have to consider contraception methods.”

He groaned. “Dear lord, we have to worry about that _now?”_

“Not now, but in six weeks or so.”

“Fine,” he huffed, “but can’t we just enjoy having Michael for a while?”

“Fine, consider the matter shelved for now.” Molly’s lips curved as she stared at the ceiling. _Oh how the mighty hath fallen._

~~~~~ 

“Sir?” Anthea shot up from her chair, alarmed to see Mycroft walk into the office. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?” 

He stopped beside the desk and stared fixedly at her, face and eyes impassive. After a moment, he asked evenly, “Do you believe you’ve failed to do your job properly in some regard?”

Anthea quickly glanced at her laptop and mobile and the hot line, then faced him again and said coolly, “No, sir.”

He might have lifted his chin a fraction in acknowledgment before continuing into his office and shutting the door, but Anthea wasn’t certain. She dropped into her chair, feeling shaky, then got up after a couple of minutes and headed for the kitchenette.

Mycroft was typing on his laptop when Anthea came in after a brief knock on the door, placed a cup of tea near his hand, and took her place in front of his desk. She answered emails on her phone for about ten minutes, then couldn’t take the suspense any longer and lowered it to her lap. “Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you here?” When he raised expressionless eyes to hers, she quickly continued, “I thought you were going to stay with Molly while she was in hospital. She’s still there, isn’t she? Everything’s all right with the baby, isn’t it?” She bit her lip to stop talking, but then added, “Oh … congratulations, sir!”

Mycroft studied Anthea for a few moments, then pulled the cup and saucer closer and took a sip of tea. “Ten minutes,” he said.

“Ten minutes, sir?”

“You have ten minutes during which I will answer personal questions. I’m here because that’s what Molly wanted. If all goes as well as we expect with their follow-up visits this morning, Molly and Michael will be ready to go home this afternoon. If it suits you, Molly would like you to have lunch with her and meet the baby. I’ll be having the meal sent in so you’d need to let me know what you want.” He paused, brows raised. “Nine minutes. What else?”

“Michael’s a lovely name. What’s the rest of it?”

“Michael Stephen Hooper Holmes.” Raised brow.

“Um, and how are _you,_ sir?”

A crease appeared between Mycroft’s brows, and he didn’t answer immediately. Anthea bit her lip again, wishing she hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to –”

“No …,” he said, slowly. “It’s all right. I was considering how to respond.” His eyes met hers and she saw a bit of warmth there. “You’re Molly’s friend and I’m going to answer _that_ Anthea.” He paused again. “I’m relieved. Relieved and grateful.” He picked up his pen and slowly rolled it between his fingers and thumb before placing the pen back on his desk and carefully aligning it with the edge of his laptop. After a moment, he looked at her again. “And determined to be worthy of the precious gift Molly has bestowed on me.”

Anthea looked away, blinking against the unexpected sting of tears. She saw Mycroft turn back to his laptop from the corner of her eye and pressed her lips together for several moments before facing forward again and lifting her phone.

~~~~~ 

“I’ll be glad for Lizzie to meet Michael when you all come to the house in a couple of weeks,” Molly said, watching Mary hold the baby, who had been fed and changed just before the Watsons arrived and had so far slept through their visit. “I hope our children will be good friends, although it will take a while for Michael to be old enough to be interesting to Lizzie.”

Mary looked up from Michael with a smile. “No, she’ll be happy to meet a real live baby. We just can’t let her get hold of him. Lizzie tends to carry her dolls upside down and/or along the floor behind her.”

Molly laughed. “I find it hard to believe she’s old enough to be walking around carrying baby dolls anywhere. I know she’s two, but I still think of her as a baby.”

Mary looked at John. “John doesn’t want to admit she’s not a baby anymore either.” They’d pulled the two bedside chairs together and John was leaning over the arm of his, carefully studying Michael.

“John,” Molly said. “Why are you looking at Michael like that?”

John glanced up at Molly, looking embarrassed. “It’s difficult to believe Mycroft Holmes has a baby. I keep expecting Michael to open his eyes and start issuing orders.”

 _“John!”_ Mary looked at Molly apologetically. “Forgive him, Molly. He’s spent too much time around Sherlock.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. Last night, Sherlock asked me if I’d ever seen _The Omen.”_ Molly’s eyes met Mary’s and they burst out laughing.

John just studied Michael even more intently.

~~~~~ 

Molly talked to Mike Stamford on the phone, but he was tied up with lectures in addition to his usual work load so couldn’t take a break to visit. Greg was in the field on a case and didn’t think he could get free before Molly would be leaving for home. Meena had a sinus infection so didn’t need to be around Molly or the baby, so they made plans for her to come to the house once she was well. 

In between having breakfast, seeing Mycroft off to the office, the Watsons’ visit, the phone calls with Mike, Greg and Meena, calls from her parents-in-law and Mrs. Collingwood, the follow-up examinations by the obstetrician and midwife, and a supervised shower, change of clothes and another walk up and down the corridor, Molly’s morning was spent feeding Michael, changing Michael, and watching Michael sleep … and Molly was content. Tired, but content.

Mycroft called at half past eleven, wanting to know how the check-ups went and confirming that Anthea was coming to lunch.

“Christine said we’re both doing great and she has no problem with us leaving this afternoon since we’ll have plenty of support at home. Of course, we’re to call her immediately if blah, blah, blah.”

“I hope you paid attention to that blah, blah, blah.”

“Of course I did,” Molly rolled her eyes at the phone. “It was the standard stuff about bleeding, elimination … do you really want me to go into detail?”

“Blah, blah, blah would have been sufficient,” he said drily.

Molly laughed. This light-hearted Mycroft was one of her secret treasures. 

“Walter’s going to pick up your lunch. I was thinking about ordering a selection from The Dorchester -- appetizer, fish, meat, cheese, dessert? Does that appeal?” 

“Unless Anthea wants it, don’t get fish. Oh, please order her some wine if she wants it.”

“She’ll be working after lunch, Molly.”

“Does a glass or two of wine affect _your_ ability to work?”

“Hmm, I’ll ask her. Anything else?”

“Would you like to join us?”

“That would rather put the kibosh on your girl-talk.”

“I assure you we won’t be wasting our visit on so-called _girl-_ talk.”

“I’m relieved to know you won’t be talking about me,” he said, drily.

“It’s rather cocky to consider that girl-talk means I’d be talking about _you.”_

“My apologies,” he said, lightly.

“Besides, talking about you with my friends would …”

“Would what,” he asked after a moment.

“… make them _extremely_ envious,” she whispered.

Silence for a moment, then Mycroft cleared his throat. “I need to get your lunch ordered,” he said in a more business-like tone. “As it is, one o’clock may be the earliest we’ll get it there.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, teasingly. “Thank you, darling. I’ll see you later.” Molly rung off, then glanced down at Michael in her arms and gave him a goofy smile when she saw his eyes were open. “Your daddy would deny it, but he enters into the spirit of flirting quite nicely when the moment is right.”

~~~~~ 

Her midwife came by just before noon for another quick check on Molly’s and Michael’s progress and deemed both of them to be model patients. Susan was going off duty at 2 p.m. and gave Molly some tips for caring for the baby’s cord stump and for her own more delicate parts. Molly shuddered at the term “cracked nipples” and vowed to follow all recommendations to the letter to avoid the condition. 

Anthea called at 12:50 to say she and Walter had picked up lunch and were on their way. Molly finished feeding Michael and had him changed and herself freshened up just before Anthea knocked and pushed the door open far enough to peek around its edge. “All right for Walter to come in?” Molly was sitting on the sofa, holding Michael, and started to shift forward. “Don’t move. We’ll come to you.” 

Anthea was carrying large restaurant bags in both hands and held the door open for Walter, who sidled by her carrying a large insulated box and raised his brows at Molly. “Here, Walter. We can use the sofa table.” Walter set the box on the floor and looked at the baby. “Thank you, Walter.” She glanced down at Michael, who still appeared content. “Um, would you like to hold him?”

Walter looked at Anthea, who followed him to the sitting area and dropped onto the sofa beside Molly, setting her bags on the table. “Go ahead, Walter.” Anthea leaned closer to Molly and said, “Walter dotes on his nephews and niece, so he has some experience with handling babies.” She reached to tuck the blanket away from Michael’s face. “Oh, Molly … he’s adorable.”

Molly smiled at Anthea, then shifted Michael higher to cup her hand under his head as she lifted him toward Walter. “Have a seat,” she said. Instead of joining them on the sofa, Walter sat in one of the chairs by the bed. Molly glanced at Anthea and raised a brow.

“He probably doesn’t want to act too familiar with the boss’s wife,” Anthea murmured.

“What do you think of Michael, Walter?”

“He’s a lovely boy, Mrs. Holmes,” he replied, smiling shyly. “He has a look of Mr. Holmes.”

“I think so,” Molly said, then laughed softly. “Mycroft says he hopes the baby favors me, but I think he’s secretly pleased. I just hope Michael’s eye and hair color stay as they are.”

Anthea scooted forward and started emptying the bags. She took a bottle of white wine, a bottle of sparkling water, and two wine glasses from one, croissants and Echiré from another. The restaurant had sent china, cutlery, and linen serviettes, which didn’t shock Molly as much as it would have in her pre-Mycroft days. Anthea took the lid off the insulated box and kept pulling out food container after food container until Molly gasped. “Good lord, Anthea! What all did Mycroft order?”

“Chocolate gateau, lemon tart, several cheeses, chicken quenelles, fillet of beef, roasted loin of veal, macaroni au gratin, raw vegetables, cooked vegetables.” Molly tilted her head toward Walter and raised a brow. “No - we also picked up orders for Walter and Mycroft.” Anthea’s eyes suddenly widened. _“Oi,_ Walter ... you better get back to the office with Sir’s lunch!” 

Within five minutes, Walter had left and Molly had rolled the bassinet to the sitting area and tentatively placed Michael in it. She stood beside it for a while, expecting him to start crying, but instead he blinked drowsily for several minutes, then went to sleep. Molly turned to Anthea and dropped her jaw dramatically, jerking her thumb toward the baby. “He actually went to sleep,” she said quietly, then started toward the ensuite. “I need to wash my hands.” Anthea took her turn when Molly got back, then they tucked into lunch.

“Oh my god, I can feel my bum expanding already,” Molly moaned. “How do you stay so slim eating like this?”

Anthea swallowed a sip of wine. “Are you mad? I _never_ eat like this!”

“You and Mycroft don’t order out …?”

“Most of the time he has a sandwich or salad at his desk – and that’s usually because I order him something when I pick up my lunch,” she said. “If we’re out of the office and eat at a restaurant, he orders a salad or fish or something light.” She stopped to try a bite of veal. “Oh, mmmm.” She swallowed, then, “Surely you knew that?”

“He never ate much when we used to go to afternoon tea regularly, but he eats well on the weekends now. He’s not always home for dinner during the week, but when he is, he usually eats enough that I don’t nag him about it.” Molly put her fork down and refilled her glass with water. “I thought I’d convinced him to stop worrying about dieting.”

“I don’t know if he’s really dieting or he’s simply found a way of eating that keeps his weight in check,” Anthea said. “Eating light when he’s on his own so he can enjoy his food when he’s with you. That’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Molly said, poking at the pasta on her plate. “Anthea ...”

“What.”

“Is Mycroft different at the office than he was before we, um – “

“Got together?”

“Oh god,” Molly moaned. “I told Mycroft I wouldn’t be talking about him, but here we are.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Anthea said, grinning mischievously. “We’re not discussing state secrets … or your sex life.”

 _“Anthea!”_ Molly flushed. “As if I would.”

Anthea laughed. “As to your question, he hasn’t changed in any way that I can see. He’s still the same Ice Man we underlings all love and fear, except …”

“Except?”

“I can usually tell when he’s talked to you,” she said, pursing her lips, then took another sip of wine. “I’d say he talked to you just after 11:30 today.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I went to his office about 11:45 and there was a lighter … _aura,_ for want of a better word. Plus, there’s something in his expression … I can’t explain it, but when I see it, I always think,’ he’s been talking to Molly’.” She raised her brows. “So, were you talking to him about that time?”

“Ye-e-e-s-s,” Molly said slowly.

Anthea took a bite of pasta, chewed it slowly, and then wiped some cream sauce off her lips. “Mycroft is different when you’re around or you’ve been around him,” she said, drawing a leg under her as she turned on the sofa to face her friend. “Someone who isn’t as familiar with him as I am might not notice, but he’s more, um, _alive?_ More human? I don’t know exactly how to describe it, but it’s as if the air is buzzing. He acts the same and he looks just as cool as ever on the outside, but it’s as if a powerful engine is idling on the inside and changing the atmosphere of the room. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, thank you,” Molly said, flushing again. “We should probably change the subject now.” She shoved half a croissant in her mouth, then almost choked trying to chew and swallow it. Anthea gave her a hard rap between the shoulders when she coughed. “Stop – I’m all right.” Molly took a long swallow of water, then met Anthea’s eyes. “Shut up, Anthea.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Anthea said and bit off half a raw carrot with a snap of her teeth.

Molly snorted, then shifted forward on the sofa when she heard Michael make a mewling noise. He was awake, looking very cross, and began to cry softly when Molly checked his diaper. “Excuse us, Anthea. He needs a fresh nappy.” Molly carried him to the changing table and took care of business, then sat in a chair by the bed. “I hope this isn’t putting you off your lunch, but he needs to nurse.” Molly adjusted her clothing and covered Michael with a light blanket.

“Not at all, but I’ve had enough,” Anthea said. “Now I want a nap, but instead I need to get back to work. What do you want to do with all this food?”

“Do you want to take some of it back with you? You have a fridge at the office. You could take the food home.”

“I’m definitely taking my share of the puddings for later, but I don’t want anything else.”

“I’ll offer it to the staff. I don’t think the food looks picked over, do you? All we did was serve our plates and keep the rest of it covered.”

“It all looks fine. You do want your cake and tart, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, though I really shouldn’t.”

“Splurge, Molly, splurge! You’ve just created a whole new person. You deserve to enjoy the extra calories.”

~~~~~ 

Mycroft returned at 3 p.m., carrying the baby’s car seat. After giving Molly a quick kiss on the lips and Michael one on the forehead, he left to arrange the details of their discharge. He returned with two staff members who went over their discharge instructions and presented them with written versions, along with a variety of leaflets on postnatal topics, in a leather binder. Postnatal appointments were scheduled for Molly and Michael, then they were free to leave. 

Molly fed Michael while Mycroft gathered their things together, then he changed the baby while Molly visited the loo. Christine stopped by as they were about to leave, having just finished delivering another baby, and signaled for the aide to bring a wheelchair. Molly protested, but Christine told her to save her energy. “You’re going to need it, Molly.” She shook both their hands and went quickly down the corridor, on to another case.

Molly watched Mycroft place Michael in the carrier and adjust the head huggers properly, then sat in the wheelchair and asked Angela to hand her the vase of flowers. Angela put their bags and a tote bag of baby products and supplies from the hospital on a cart, which another aide took charge of, and then their little entourage was off.

Walter straightened away from the car and stared when Mycroft, looking his usual elegantly suited self, came out the hospital door, infant carrier in hand. He never imagined witnessing such a sight and thought most people who were acquainted with Mycroft to any extent wouldn’t believe even the proof of their own eyes. Walter quickly opened the rear door and looked on eagerly as his boss lifted and angled the carrier onto the backseat.

“Thank you, Walter,” Mycroft said, as he leaned into the car and maneuvered the car seat into place before buckling the belt.

When Walter looked up, he saw Molly come out of the hospital. Mycroft’s eyes met Walter’s and he pointed a finger toward the baby, then quickly crossed the pavement, exchanged a few words with the staff members, and took charge of the wheelchair. Once at the car, he helped Molly lower herself onto a pillow he placed on the seat beside the carrier, then, at her request, put the flowers on the floor so she could brace the vase between her feet. The aide with the cart had followed them and Walter transferred the bags to the boot. Molly smiled and waved at Angela and Carl before Mycroft shut the door and rounded the boot to get in on the other side. 

As Walter carefully entered the traffic, Molly and Mycroft rested a hand on opposite sides of the baby carrier. Their eyes held for several moments, then they settled more comfortably on the seat, looked at Michael sleeping peacefully between them, and smiled. When the car turned through their gate ten minutes later, Mycroft straightened and adjusted his tie. “You have a welcoming committee, my dear.”

Molly sat up and looked out the window, smiling when she saw Siger, Violet and Mrs. Collingwood waiting on the front doorstep. “That’s sweet of them. They must have been waiting by the door to have come out just when the gate chime signaled.”

Mycroft’s eyes met Walter’s in the rearview mirror. “I think they had a scout.” Molly looked at Mycroft, then followed his gaze to Walter.

“They asked me to let them know,” Walter said, a bit sheepishly.

“Thank you, Walter,” Molly said, decisively. “I appreciate it.”

When the car drew to a halt before the front step, Siger hurried to open the door. “Welcome home, darling girl. You’ll have to forgive our eagerness, but we’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

Molly handed Violet the vase of flowers, then got out of the car very carefully with Siger’s assistance. Mycroft exited from the other side with Michael, who stirred at the commotion and opened his eyes, only to frown at the bright afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees. Molly took Siger’s arm and they started toward the front steps, but stopped at Mycroft’s “wait a minute.” Mycroft asked Siger to take the infant carrier, then slipped his arm around Molly’s back, stooped to slide the other under her knees and lifted her into his arms. 

“Mycroft! I’m too heavy for this!”

“You’re not supposed to use the stairs yet,” he said briskly, managing the three steps into the house without any sign of effort. “And you’re not too heavy,” he added, gently placing Molly back on her feet. She leaned against him for a moment, lips curving as she held his gaze and fingered the edge of his jacket’s lapel until he covered her hand with his and tilted his head toward the others who were still on the threshold, waiting to come in. Mrs. Collingwood was paying no attention to the younger couple since she was busy leaning over the carrier and cooing at the baby. Siger and Violet, however, were smiling, obviously delighted by the private moment they’d witnessed.

Molly flushed and took a step away from Mycroft. “Sorry, I felt a bit light-headed for a second.” She took his offered arm and they led the way down the hall as the others came in behind them.

Mycroft’s hand covered Molly’s where it was resting on his arm. “Do you want to go up now?”

Molly waited for Siger to catch up, then checked on Michael, who was awake but so far seemed happy enough. “What I’d really like is a cup of tea. The midwife assured me a cup or two per day should be all right.” 

“To the sitting room then,” Mycroft said. “Mrs. C?”

“Ten minutes, Mr. Mycroft.”

Once Molly was settled on the sofa, she turned to Violet, who was hovering around Siger and the baby. “Mummy, would you mind taking Michael to the kitchen? Let Mrs. C give him a quick cuddle before he starts fussing?” She looked at Mycroft while Violet lifted the baby from the carrier. “I know she’ll have plenty of time to hold Michael later, but she’s been waiting with us for a long time.” As Violet left the room, Molly called after her. “Thanks, Mummy!”

Molly sighed and leaned her head against Mycroft’s upper arm. He glanced at his father before lifting his arm to slip it around Molly’s back and pull her against his chest. “You must be exhausted, my dear,” he said, unthinkingly pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, then froze, feeling the tips of his ears tingle. He knew they must be pink and - _damn it,_ his father wasn’t going to make a big deal of Mycroft showing a little concern for his wife ..., but then Molly rested her hand on Mycroft’s chest, and he felt the warmth spread to his cheeks.

Siger suppressed a smile as he reached for the newspaper, which he’d already read, and buried his face in it to give his boy a bit of privacy.

~~~~~ 

Violet held Michael while they were having tea. Molly had finished her first cup and refused any more, so settled back on the sofa to chat with the others while they enjoyed a refill. She yawned behind her hand and Violet offered to take care of the baby while Molly took a nap.

“That’s kind of you, Mummy, but he’ll be wanting to nurse again soon,” she said, suppressing another yawn. “When he finishes, I’ll try to take a cat nap.” She smiled, then raised her brows. “That reminds me, how’s Toby doing in his new living quarters?” Over the last month of Molly’s pregnancy, Mrs. Collingwood had started taking Toby home with her at night. The arrangement seemed to suit both of them and had since become full-time.

“Don’t feel abandoned, dear, but he’s really taken to staying with Mrs. C,” Violet said. “She certainly likes the company, and I think Toby actually prefers her smaller house. It’s cozier, I imagine.”

“Toby has always liked to tuck himself into small, enclosed places and hide under furniture.” 

“I understand he’s already taken possession of the window seat in her sitting room and likes to sit on the kitchen sill when she’s in her kitchen,” Violet said.

“Poor Toby,” Molly said, frowning. “I wasn’t giving him as much attention as he was used to. Still, he seems happy, and I know it’s better for him not to have free access to the baby.” She drew a deep breath, then looked at Mycroft. “I’d like to get settled upstairs before Michael wakes.”

Mycroft set his cup down and helped Molly up, then looked at his parents. “Would you take care of Michael until I come back?”

“I could bring him –” Violet said, shifting forward on the sofa.

“Thank you, Mummy, but would you keep him down here until I return for him?”

“All right, dear,” she said, looking curious.

Molly looked at Mycroft curiously as well, but she was suddenly extremely tired and figured he had a reason so didn’t ask. “I’ll see you later,” she called over her shoulder as they left the room. She tightened her hold on his arm as they slowly crossed the hall toward the stairs, then shied away when he stopped and started to pick her up. “I can walk if we go slowly.”

“You’re not supposed to use the stairs,” he said, stooping to lift her into his arms, then he hitched her higher. “Besides, you like being carried. You’re just concerned about my back.” 

Molly slid her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek as he started up the stairs. “If you injure your back from carrying me around, I promise to give you absolute _hell_ about it for a _very_ long time.” She pressed her face against his neck and didn’t raise her head until he’d carried her through the door to their room and continued past the bed without stopping. “What are you –” She broke off with a gasp as Mycroft lowered her onto a, onto … She ran her hands over the deeply tufted upholstery on the Victorian chaise longue that had somehow materialized in what had previously been an open area in front of their windows. “Where – when – _how_ did you get this here?”

“I ordered it a few weeks ago and had it delivered this morning,” he said. “I thought this would give you a comfortable place to put your feet up while you nurse Michael. The natural light will also be good for reading or –”

Molly grabbed his hand and tugged him down to sit by her. “You are so thoughtful,” she said, then slipped her hands behind his head and pulled him to her for a lingering kiss. She leaned back and first fingered the silk damask upholstery in a smooth ivory on textured ivory floral pattern and then the decorative satin and silk cushions and soft chenille throw in muted pastels. “This is a wonderful surprise, Mycroft, but it’s very _girly._ It doesn’t exactly fit the décor.”

“Do you like it?”

“I _love_ it!” 

“Then it fits,” he said, as he rose to his feet. “I better go get Michael.”

Molly gasped, looking at the closed door. “Oh god, go! He’s probably crying by now.” When Mycroft left the room, Molly toed her shoes off and stretched as she lay against the arched backrest. After a few moments, she sat up and carefully made her way to Mycroft’s bathroom to wash her hands. He’d left the hall door open and she could hear them returning since Michael was making little protesting cries. Molly returned to the chaise longue and was unbuttoning her dress when Mycroft came through the door and brought him to her. _“Shhhh,_ it’s all right, _shhhh_ …,” she said softly, “… here you go.” Michael continued to cry fretfully and it took several attempts before he latched on properly, but then it was as if his cries had been turned off with a switch, and peace returned.

Mycroft stood beside them for a few minutes, then took off his jacket and waistcoat and went into his dressing room. Molly looked up when he came to the door and leaned against the jamb, removing his cufflinks. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said as he unbuckled his belt and tugged his shirttail free. “You should try to have a nap when Michael goes to sleep.” He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, watching them, then left the shirt hanging open and walked over to sit on the edge of the chaise. “You’re going to be feeding him around the clock for days. Are you sure you want to take this on? If you expressed your milk and used bottles as well as nursing him, other people could help feed him and make it less demanding on you.”

“I _want_ to do it, Mycroft,” she insisted, bending to kiss the top of Michael’s head. “Feeding him won’t be so time-consuming after the first week or so. He’ll start nursing longer and with more time in between feeds.” She looked up at Mycroft and bit her lip. “I want to be the one to feed him. If anything, I’m being selfish.”

“No, you just want the best for Michael,” he said, then gave her a kiss and rose to his feet. “I won’t be long, then I’ll take care of him and you can go to bed for a while.”

“Go ahead then, give me a thrill,” she said, widening her eyes. When he frowned in confusion, she grinned. “Flash me some skin.” Mycroft sighed in exasperation, but shrugged the shirt off on his way back to the dressing room. _“Woo-hoo!”_ She looked at Michael with raised brows and mouth pursed in an “O”. “Your daddy is deliciously sexy, Michael.”

“I heard that!” Mycroft called as he went through the dressing room door. “Don’t be filling his head with such nonsense.”

“All he hears is mwha, mwha, mwha,” Molly called back. “He doesn’t understand words!” She grinned at the baby, well-satisfied with Mycroft’s response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY!! I'm an idiot. I posted this in error and didn't know how to take it back without deleting it - and after spending almost 90 minutes formatting the dang thing, I didn't want to do that. This is the longest part of the finale and was supposed to be saved here in draft form until I could add the rest of it. _Aarrgghh!_ Now there will have to be a Part III (which is almost ready to post).


	27. He's Got On With His Life, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Mycroft finally admits he was wrong ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies again for the accidental posting of Chapter 26 before I'd added the rest of it. This is the conclusion of that chapter.

After spending the first night at home with Michael, Molly couldn’t imagine how other women coped with taking care of a newborn and doing … well, _anything_ else. Molly, at least, was in the enviable position of being responsible for doing nothing _but_ taking care of the baby and herself. And to an extent she wasn’t even doing that. At least not alone.

She’d fallen asleep on the chaise longue early the previous evening after Mycroft took charge of the just-fed Michael and she hadn’t wakened until he needed another feed almost two hours later. Her dinner had been brought to her by Mrs. Collingwood. Her parents-in-law had hovered - at times in or near the bedroom, at other times in spirit - throughout the evening, offering their assistance. After Michael finished nursing mid-evening, Molly had accepted Violet’s help to get a shower and wash her hair, leaving Mycroft holding the baby and Siger serving as his eager wingman. By the time Molly had washed the hospital smell - a lingering antiseptic scent - off her body and out of her hair and put on fresh nightclothes, she felt much better, and a walk up and down the hall several times with Siger had helped to lessen the aches in her muscles. But ten minutes later she’d felt faint while standing in the bedroom’s sitting area and had to sit quickly as that feeling of exhaustion spread through her again. Ten minutes after _that_ Michael was awake and needing her.

Molly had been told, and knew, that such tiredness after giving birth was perfectly normal, especially when feeding a baby “on cue.” She’d gone to bed when she finished nursing Michael just after 11 p.m., and had already dozed off by the time Mycroft joined her after changing the baby’s nappy and ensuring he was asleep on his back in the mini-cot by their bed. The rest of the night was a blur of trying to nap between feeding the baby every two hours or so, and even Mycroft – who had no problem with going without sleep for _days_ when work required it - looked a bit hollow-eyed when Michael stirred again at 6:15. In the few minutes it took for Mycroft to bring the baby to her, Molly decided to give in to the others’ urging her to stay in bed as much as possible over the next several days and to accept their offers of assistance. She needed to regain her strength and the best way to do that was to get some rest, which meant sleeping during the relatively short periods when the baby slept between feeds.

Once Molly began nursing Michael, Mycroft put on his dressing gown and headed for the kitchen. He was slumped on a stool at the island, sipping tea, when Mrs. Collingwood came in and stopped abruptly at seeing him.

“I was going to bring the tea tray up to you, Mr. Mycroft,” she said, frowning. “You look exhausted.”

“It’s Molly who should be exhausted,” he said, lowering his cup to the saucer. “After witnessing the labor and birthing process and seeing how often Michael has to be fed, I don’t know how she hasn’t keeled over by now.”

The housekeeper rested her hand on his shoulder and gave him a pat before moving to the refrigerator. “How would you like a Full English this morning? Do you think Miss Molly would be up for it?”

Mycroft shifted on the stool and turned to her. “That sounds wonderful, Mrs. C. I don’t know if Molly will want something too heavy but let’s offer it to her.” He paused, and his lips turned up at the corners. “She’ll be more likely to tuck in if she has to resist the sight and smell of your eggs and sausages.” 

“How are Molly and the baby?”

Mycroft quickly turned toward the doorway as Violet sailed through, followed by his father. “Nursing right now. Molly didn’t get much rest, but Michael nursed well and slept for a while in between feedings.”

“Very tiring for you, too, I think,” Violet said, sliding an arm around his shoulders and stooping to kiss his forehead. “You should go get a shower or whatever you want to do. We’ll help Mrs. C prepare your and Molly’s breakfast and bring it up.” She stopped as Mycroft pulled out his phone.

“They’re not finished nursing yet,” he said, turning the screen toward Violet. “We have a new wireless CCTV system so we can see and hear Michael when he’s in his cot or anywhere else we choose to put the cameras.”

Violet smiled as she listened to Molly softly singing to the baby. “Molly does know you’re monitoring her as well?”

“Molly knows that I temporarily adjusted the camera angle this morning,” he said, “though by now she’s likely forgotten it’s there. The cameras will normally be providing an audio and video feed of Michael’s cots in both rooms.” He slipped the phone into his pocket, then rose to his feet. “I’m going to do what you suggested, Mummy.” His gaze moved from one of them to the other. “Thank you.”

Molly looked up with a smile when Mycroft came into their room. “Did you get something to eat?”

“Just tea,” he said, shrugging out of his dressing gown. “They’re bringing us breakfast shortly, so I’m going to have a quick shower and get dressed – unless I can do something for you?”

“No, we’re fine … aren’t we, sweetie,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the baby, whose eyes were fixed on her face. 

~~~~~ 

After lunch, which they’d eaten in the sitting area of their room, Mycroft went to the study to work for a while. They’d moved the mini-cot over by the chaise longue, and Molly was reading while she waited for Michael to wake up again. Her breasts, which started to ache earlier, had now begun to tingle, and she felt them flush with sudden warmth when Michael abruptly woke with a fussy cry, and then her right breast leaked.

“Oh god,” she muttered, shifting to the side of the chaise. “Hold on, Michael.” She went to Mycroft’s bathroom since it was closer and grabbed a couple of towels, then ran some cool water on a flannel before returning to sit by the cot. She quickly unbuttoned her nightgown and lowered both now-damp cups of her bra. She lifted Michael and settled on the chaise, placing the cool flannel over her left breast and covering it with a folded towel, then encouraged the baby to latch onto her right breast. Her breasts felt tight and it was uncomfortable when Michael first started to nurse, but the ache in that breast eased as time passed. Molly looked up when the bedroom door abruptly opened and Mycroft strode across the room, looking concerned.

“What’s happened?”

“My milk’s come in,” she said, “and quite suddenly, too.”

“What can I do to help?”

“There’s nothing to do,” she said, shifting over and holding her hand out for Mycroft’s, then tugging him down to sit beside her. “It’s just made my breasts ache and tingle, but nursing is helping with that – in the one breast at least.” She leaned against the backrest and smiled, still holding his hand.

“His sucking sounds different,” Mycroft observed after a few moments.

“The milk is thinner than the colostrum and there should be more of it. I suppose Michael’s surprised as well, assuming he’s capable of noticing the difference.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it, then held the palm against her cheek. “There _is_ something you can do for me, please. I need a fresh nightgown and bra from the top drawer of the chest just inside my dressing room door. And some leak shields from the package in the wardrobe in Michael’s room – the one where all the extra nappies are stored.”

When Mycroft brought the things she’d requested, Molly urged him to return to his work and asked him to send Violet up when convenient. He did leave but came back almost immediately with his mother.

“Thank you, Mycroft, but there was no hurry,” Molly said. “I just wanted to talk to Mummy about breastfeeding since she has some experience with it.” She suppressed a smile when Mycroft grimaced at the mention of his mother in regard to something of such a personal nature. He and Sherlock were both surprisingly prudish when it came to their parents and, as Molly expected, Mycroft hastily excused himself and returned to the study. 

~~~~~ 

Molly didn’t bother to argue about Mycroft carrying her downstairs for Sunday dinner. She just looped her arms around his neck and smiled at Siger who was carrying Michael in the Moses basket and at Violet who was following behind with the baby bag. Michael had been fed and changed and was still awake, with everything seeming to be all right in his world for the moment. 

Mrs. Collingwood had already left for the day, so after they’d finished eating, the men and Violet cleared the table and dealt with the kitchen cleanup before joining Molly and the now-sleeping Michael in the sitting room. When Michael woke and started to fuss, Mycroft handed Molly a light-weight blanket from the baby bag. Molly settled Michael against her, arranged the blanket over her shoulder, then started to unfasten her blouse and bra under its cover, but hesitated, looking at her parents-in-law. “Is this all right?”

“Of course, my dear,” Violet said, patting Siger’s knee. His head was buried in the newspaper, but he dropped the corner to give Molly a smile before returning to his reading. 

By the time Michael next fell asleep, the others had decided an afternoon nap was a good idea. Mycroft delivered Molly to their bed, Siger brought Michael up and transferred him from the basket to his cot, and then the elder Holmeses headed down the hall. Mycroft toed off his shoes and took off his jacket and waistcoat, then crawled onto the bed and stretched out beside Molly with a sigh. After a few moments, he rolled onto his side, shifted closer into their usual spooning position, and rested his hand on the soft bulge of her post-pregnancy belly. He huffed a laugh when Molly immediately removed his hand and held it against her breast instead. “You can’t hide it from me forever,” he murmured, then grunted when she elbowed him in the chest.

~~~~~ 

Mycroft was sitting at his desk Sunday evening when he heard the front door unexpectedly open and familiar footsteps come down the hall. Without looking up, he quietly called, “Come in, little brother.”

Sherlock paused in the doorway, head tilted as he studied an unfamiliar Mycroft, sitting relaxed in his desk chair, lamp turned low, jacket and waistcoat off, and attention totally focused on the blanket-wrapped infant held in the crook of his arm. After several moments, Mycroft lifted his gaze, brow arched questioningly. “Have a seat, Sherlock.”

Sherlock finally crossed the room and dropped into the chair across from Mycroft, continuing to study the scene silently, then smirked at the pattern of the yellow fleece blanket. “Ducks wearing bowties, brother mine?”

“Molly assures me Michael loves bowtie-wearing ducks,” Mycroft said drily, without looking up.

“He can’t distinguish such images yet.”

Mycroft’s eyes lifted and he gave his brother a wry smile. “Feel free to argue that point with Molly.”

Sherlock huffed a quiet laugh. “Not a chance.”

The three of them sat in companionable silence for a while, then Mycroft leaned his head against the back of his chair and studied his brother. “You’re welcome, Sherlock, but what brought you here this late?”

“The thought of observing you after three days of being stuck in the house with Molly, a newborn, and the parents,” he quipped. “That had the potential to be entertaining.”

Mycroft snorted, then lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “Bored?”

“John took the gun away.”

“Ah.” Mycroft’s eyes lowered to Michael, who’d begun to stir. “I’m sure Mrs. Hudson and her walls were relieved.”

“Carrying a weapon to some of the places John and I go is a necessary precaution,” Sherlock said crankily. “We can’t all call on an armed force at a moment’s notice for protection.”

When the baby’s hand fluttered at the edge of the blanket, Mycroft slipped a finger into the loose fist and the tiny fingers immediately gripped his larger one. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect Molly and Michael – to protect my family,” he said evenly, then raised his eyes to Sherlock. “And that includes you, brother mine.” They stared at each other silently, then Mycroft looked away before shifting forward in his chair. “Well, I better get Michael back to Molly. He’ll be hungry again soon.”

“How is Molly?”

“Tired, and nursing Michael so often doesn’t allow her much uninterrupted sleep, but Molly will be fine,” Mycroft said, cradling the baby closer as he rose from his chair.

Sherlock stood as well and waited for Mycroft to come around the desk. Mycroft stopped alongside him, raised a hand to push the blanket away from the baby’s face, then lifted his elbow outward so Sherlock could see Michael more easily. His brother made a show of rolling his eyes, but leaned in closer. After a few seconds of intent study, he lifted his eyes to Mycroft’s and shook his head sadly. “No point in trying to deny your paternity, brother dear. Thank god Michael appears to have Molly’s nose.”

Mycroft snorted and gathered his son more closely to him, then started toward the door. “Stay if you want.” When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he added over his shoulder, “There’s always room for you here, little brother.”

Sherlock watched as his brother started up the stairs. “Don’t be absurd,” he scoffed. “As if I’d want to be under _your_ fat thumb.” Mycroft paused when Sherlock cleared his throat. “Tell Molly … tell her …”

“She knows, Sherlock. She’s _always_ known.”

~~~~~ 

Early the next morning, Mycroft was sitting on the edge of the bed while Molly nursed Michael. “I can work from home while Anthea covers the office. I don’t have to go in.”

“Yes,” Molly insisted, “you _do.”_ She lifted her free hand to his jaw, then ran her fingers down his throat, smoothed the lapel of his dressing gown, and pressed her palm against his chest. “Michael and I will always _need_ you, Mycroft, but we don’t need you to stay home with us _today._ We all have to get into a routine of sorts and that means you going to work. My job is being here. Someday I’ll return to Barts, but until then my focus will be taking care of Michael.” She slowly smiled, then added, “And being with _you.”_ She touched the tip of her forefinger to his chest and applied pressure. “Now go. Take your shower, have a good breakfast and get to the office. You need to spend time away from all this domesticity before your brain starts turning to mush.”

Mycroft lifted her finger off his chest, kissed its tip, and lowered his head until their lips met, taking care not to lean on the baby. He then dropped a gentle kiss on Michael’s forehead, causing the baby to frown at being disturbed while intent on nursing. Molly huffed a laugh at the mini-Mycroft crease that appeared between the perfect little brows. “Oh, he is _so_ your son.”

~~~~~ 

“Good morning, sir,” Anthea said, smiling brightly as Mycroft came in, and he returned the greeting with a brief smile before entering his office and shutting the door behind him. An hour later, she was answering emails while he studied a report, a crease between his brows, until he finally placed the file on the desk and sat back, fingers steepled under his chin. Anthea glanced at him, but continued to work on her phone since her boss was obviously thinking.

They worked for more than two hours on strategies for dealing with a crisis brewing in Southeast Asia before Mycroft finally dismissed Anthea with a flick of his fingers. Anthea uncrossed her legs and started to stand, but paused, suddenly struck by something ... _alien_ in the air. Mycroft looked up from the file he was studying, face impassive. “Was there something else?”

Anthea cleared her throat, but shook her head without speaking. Once back at her desk, she thought for a few moments, then picked up the phone. “Molly?”

Ten minutes later, Mycroft answered a call from his wife. “Hello, my dear.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting something important, Mycroft.”

“Not at all,” he said, turning away from the latest, increasingly frantic email from the PM’s principal private secretary. “Is everything all right at home?”

“We’re fine,” she said.

He waited for the rest of it, then finally prompted her after several moments of silence. “But?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, “but I wondered if you could come home for a short break. Maybe for lunch?”

Mycroft checked the time and considered the meetings slated for the afternoon and evening, then, “Of course, my dear. I’ll be there in half an hour.” When he let himself into the house, he was surprised that it was so quiet. He found Mrs. Collingwood and his mother in the kitchen, and both had been unaware that he was coming home. Violet said Siger had walked to a bookstore on the High Street. He went upstairs and found Molly stretched out on the chaise longue, nursing Michael.

Molly was startled when Mycroft entered the bedroom and crossed the room to her. “Oh, _hi!_ I didn’t expect you so soon.”

He bent to give her a quick kiss and brushed his forefinger over the baby’s cheek, then straightened and slid his hands into his trouser pockets, carefully studying the two of them. “Are you all right?”

“We’re both fine,” she said. “I told you nothing’s wrong here.”

Mycroft considered that statement as he continued to study her. “Nothing’s wrong _here._ Is something wrong elsewhere?”

Molly hesitated. “Please don’t be angry with Anthea, Mycroft, but she told me you have some important meetings this afternoon, and …”

His face fell into impassive lines as he suppressed a surge of alarm at Anthea’s indiscretion. The fact of his having meetings wasn’t exactly top secret, but not talking about anything work-related had been the principal caveat when Anthea initially started spending off-duty time with Molly. If Anthea could talk about meetings, she might eventually talk about something that would ultimately endanger Molly. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I fail to see why my personal assistant felt it necessary to share information about my diary.”

 _Oh, dear._ “Mycroft, don’t be angry … please.” Molly sighed. “The thing is …”

“The thing is?”

“You, um … smell like the baby,” she said quickly, biting her lip when he stared at her for several moments, then blinked slowly and brought his jacket sleeve to his nose. “It may be from the baby wipes.” When he lowered his arm, but still didn’t say anything, she continued more quickly, “Anthea didn’t want you to go into the meetings and have the other people, um ... the scent is quite distinctive as being baby-related, you know. You might not understand, but Anthea was embarrassed to bring it up. She told me it seemed too personal and, besides, if the scent is on your clothes, you’ll need to change your suit and may need to shower.” He was still staring at her and she added, earnestly, “She would have told you, I’m sure, if you didn’t have me now.”

“If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t smell like a baby,” he said mildly. Before Molly took that too seriously, he threw his head back and laughed. “My god, I smell like a baby and _I_ didn’t notice,” he said, eyes sparkling with humor, then sat on the edge of the chaise when Michael finished nursing. “Here, give him to me. In for a penny …,” he said, cradling the baby close to his chest.

Mycroft walked into the office less than an hour later and stopped by Anthea’s desk when she looked at him without speaking. The corners of his lips finally turned up. “Thank you, Anthea. Having Cabinet members catch a whiff of baby as I passed by could have had a deleterious effect on my professional reputation.”

“Surely not, sir,” she said, then grinned. “But I would likely have been fielding some interesting calls this afternoon.”

~~~~~

On Tuesday, Molly had had enough of recovering upstairs, so she stayed up when Michael fell asleep in his cot after an early morning feeding and got dressed for the day in an over-sized, button-front shirt, yoga pants and trainers. She then packed the baby bag with a day’s supplies and put the bag on the bed by the Moses basket and a large baby blanket, ready to take downstairs.

Mycroft came out of his dressing room, jacket over his arm as he buttoned his waistcoat, and stopped short on seeing Molly both out of bed and fully dressed. She rose from the chaise longue and went to stand in front of him, lifting a hand to push the last button through its hole. “Michael and I are going to spend the day downstairs,” she said.

Mycroft raised his brows as he shrugged into his jacket. “Do you really feel up to that?”

“Other women who’ve had much harder deliveries than I did get back into the swing of things earlier than this – maybe they’re forced to by circumstances, but they’re doing it every day. I’ve had four days with little to do other than rest and feed Michael so, yes, I _do_ feel up to spending the day downstairs. If the weather stays clear, I may even take Michael outside and sit in the back garden for a while.”

“You’re not supposed to be doing stairs,” he said, frowning.

“Again, other women whose homes have stairs are forced to take them from day one.” She raised a hand, reading his mind, “No, I’m not comparing my circumstances with theirs, but while avoiding stairs for a while is recommended, that’s often not possible. I’m sore, but I don’t have stitches to worry about pulling.” Molly tilted her head as she looked up at him, then sighed. “I want to try using the stairs, Mycroft, but I’ll go very carefully and very slowly.”

So Mycroft carried Michael in his basket and Molly walked slowly down the stairs beside them, keeping a strong hold on the banister. Mrs. Collingwood looked up, eyes wide when Molly came into the kitchen. “Good morning, Miss Molly. I didn’t know you were coming down today.”

“It’s time, Mrs. C,” she said, carefully lifting herself onto a stool while Mycroft placed Michael’s basket on the island and put the baby bag on the floor by her feet. He continued to the teapot and came back with two cups, placing one by Molly’s hand before taking the stool across from her. “Thank you, darling.”

Siger and Violet came into the kitchen a few minutes later. At Molly’s nod, Violet lifted Michael out of his basket and Siger moved it to the floor, then they sat on the remaining stools. Mrs. Collingwood poured cups of tea for the elder Holmeses and refreshed Mycroft’s cup, then returned to the stove to finish breakfast preparations.

Half an hour later, Molly followed Mycroft to the front door and waited while he took his umbrella from the hook and picked up his briefcase from the hall table. While both of his hands were occupied, she stepped closer and slid her arms around his waist under his jacket and tilted her head back in invitation, looking at him from beneath lowered lids. He gave her a very precise, deliberate kiss, then pulled back until her eyes opened. “Don’t overdo things today. Let my parents and Mrs. C assist you however they can. They _want_ to, Molly.” He gave her another, more lingering kiss, then stepped back and opened the door. Molly waved at Walter and stood watching until the front gate closed behind the car.

When Molly returned to the kitchen, Toby suddenly appeared. She stooped to scratch his ears as the cat rubbed himself against her shins before scampering to the food bowl Mrs. Collingwood had just placed on the floor.

Molly did get tired as the day went on, but was pleased with the increase in her activity level. She, Violet and Siger took Michael into the back garden mid-morning, and Molly made several circuits of it, walking just inside the stone wall, while her parents-in-law sat on a bench with the baby. At one point, Siger went inside to get the baby bag and Molly changed Michael’s nappy before nursing him under a blanket thrown over her shoulder. They stayed outside enjoying the unusually warm, sunny weather until Mrs. Collingwood called from the door that lunch was ready. After they finished eating, Molly played the piano while Violet held Michael. When Michael went to sleep, they all switched to reading – Violet and Siger on one sofa, Molly on the other with Michael in the Moses basket beside her. They had tea mid-afternoon, and then Molly nursed Michael again. He stayed awake for more than an hour, and Molly left Violet and Siger to entertain him while she walked up and down the long hall for about twenty minutes. The three of them spent a lot of time talking as well, and Molly learned more about Mycroft’s childhood years.

When Mycroft got home from work, Molly was already suppressing yawns and longing for bed, but it would be almost four hours before she got there. By the time Michael finished a late evening feed, had been changed, and was asleep in the mini-cot, it was just after 11 p.m. Mycroft flipped off the light in his bathroom, then quietly crossed the room and slipped into bed beside an already dozing Molly. He pressed his length along her back, wrapped an arm around her, and sighed against her neck. “Hard day?”

Molly’s only response to his murmured question was to reach behind her and pat his hip, then she sighed and nestled deeper into her pillow.

~~~~~

Wednesday passed in similar fashion to Tuesday until mid-afternoon when Molly’s in-laws retreated to their suite for a nap before they got dressed for an evening out. Mycroft had bought tickets to a new West End musical for Violet, Siger and a couple of their friends and was treating them to a pre-theatre dinner. Mycroft had called Violet after lunch to confirm when the car would arrive to pick them up, and he’d also let Molly know he should be home at a reasonable time.

After Siger and Violet went upstairs, Molly was sitting in the sunny corner window seat in her office, knees raised, with Michael on his back in the “V” of her lap. He’d already been awake for almost an hour so she knew he wouldn’t last much longer, but he’d been alert and seemed fixated by the exaggerated faces and silly voices she was using while singing children’s songs to him. _“… swish, swish, swish, all through the town –”_ Molly broke off when Mrs. Collingwood tapped on the open door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Molly, but I wanted to talk to you about dinner,” the housekeeper said tentatively, then crossed the room when Molly waved her over. She sat at the other end of the large L-shaped cushion and watched, smiling, as Molly turned back to Michael. “I know you said to keep it simple since it’s just you and Mr. Mycroft, but I thought, since it’s your first dinner alone since the baby arrived …”

Molly turned to look at her, smiling. “What did you have in mind, Mrs. C?”

~~~~~

Mrs. Collingwood carried the sleeping baby as Molly slowly went upstairs. When the housekeeper returned to the kitchen, Molly put Michael in the mini-cot, then went to her dressing room to decide what to wear for dinner. She didn’t want to dress up too much, but she at least wanted it to look like she’d made _some_ sort of effort. She checked on Michael, then took the baby monitor with her and turned the volume up before setting it on the vanity near the shower. When Molly returned to the bedroom in her dressing gown, Michael was still sleeping peacefully, so she went back to the bathroom and quickly dried her hair.

Mycroft’s eyes briefly widened when Molly met him at the door that evening wearing a loose summer frock in a white, blue and yellow floral print and a pair of blue flats. She’d pulled her hair back in a smooth ponytail and put on some gold love knot earrings, but left her makeup at a simple clear lip gloss. “You look lovely, my dear,” he said, hooking his umbrella in its customary place before bending to kiss her. “You must be feeling better.”

“I am,” she said, lifting on her toes to give him another kiss. “Dinner won’t be ready for half an hour or so.”

“Where’s Michael?”

“In the sitting room,” she said, slipping her hand around his arm and they turned to walk down the hall. “He’s been fed and has been awake for a while, so I expect him to be asleep by the time we sit down.”

Mycroft lifted Michael from the basket and cuddled him to his chest, then sat beside Molly on the sofa. “Are you really feeling as well as you look, my dear?”

“My breasts ache, my nether parts are tender, and I’m still having contractions, especially when nursing, all of which is expected,” she said, laughing softly as she leaned her head against his arm. “I don’t know how well I look, but, yes, I feel better.”

Michael had been staring at Mycroft’s face, but began to blink slowly. Both parents were watching him as his eyelids dropped shut, then fluttered open, and repeated the process several times before he went to sleep. Mycroft dropped his shoulder and leaned sideways to kiss Molly and she slid a hand through his hair and clasped the back of his head to keep him pressed to her. When their mouths separated, she murmured, “There’s still time for a quick shower and change if you want.”

Mycroft kissed her forehead, then pulled back and carefully passed Michael to her. “All right, I’ll be back soon.”

Mrs. Collingwood had prepared a simple meal for them, if perfectly grilled rib-eyed steaks, jacket potatoes and fresh asparagus could be called simple. Michael didn’t stir when Mycroft put him in the Moses basket and set it between them on the dining table, and he stayed asleep long enough to allow them to enjoy a leisurely meal. By the time Mycroft pulled her chair back and Molly rose from the table, she felt as if they’d been on a date.

When his parents got home, filled with excitement to relate their evening’s adventures, Mycroft was stretched out on the sofa in the sitting room with his head in Molly’s lap, reading while she nursed Michael. He swung his legs to the floor and abruptly sat up when Violet came into the room, and Molly suppressed a smile when she noticed the pink tips of his ears. As always, she was completely charmed, utterly seduced, by that tell-tale sign of her worldly husband’s embarrassment at being caught in a private moment, however innocent it might be.

~~~~~

On day eight, Molly felt some milestones had been reached. Michael’s cord stump fell off, his arms and legs would now fully extend, and the time he spent nursing was steadily increasing. His number of feedings per day had already dropped from fourteen or fifteen to nine or ten, and Molly was able to sleep a little longer at a time, as was Mycroft.

~~~~~

The last Friday in May was the first night Michael slept in his own room, in the “big” cot. Molly knew the CCTV system worked – that they’d have a live audio and video feed, but she still felt nervous. After she’d nursed him late that evening, she’d watched Mycroft place him in the cot on his back and gently lift the covers over him. Molly hung over the side of the cot until Mycroft rested his palms on her shoulders and leaned around to kiss her cheek. “He’ll be all right, Molly.”

“I know, but –”

“He’s just across the hall from us. You can get to him in a few seconds.”

“I know.”

“It’s good for Michael to learn early on to sleep in his own room before he gets accustomed to sleeping in ours.”

“I know.” Molly sighed. “I know.” She let Mycroft turn her away from the cot, then took his arm as they crossed the room, glancing back just before he closed the door behind them. Once they were in bed, Molly asked Mycroft to check that the baby monitor was operating properly.

Mycroft had already checked the monitor, but picked it up and let Molly see the screen. She listened to the soft sound of Michael’s even breaths and watched the movement of his chest for several moments before handing the monitor back to Mycroft and turning away. She settled on her side and pulled the covers over her shoulder, then stared at her bedside lamp. She stretched to turn it off, then tried to relax.

Mycroft’s arm slid around her and he fitted his long body into the curves and angles of hers, pressing close against her back. “He’ll be all right.”

Several seconds passed silently, then Molly abruptly threw the covers off and sat up, twisting to face Mycroft. Their eyes met in the light from his lamp, then he opened his arms and she fell into them, shifting until she was half lying across his body and pressing her face against his throat. She sobbed when he pulled the covers up and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s the hormones,” she gasped, gulping back more tears.

“I know,” he said, then reached for the lamp switch.

~~~~~

After Sunday dinner on that last weekend of May, Violet and Siger left the sitting room and went upstairs to get ready to return home. They’d been invited to stay longer, but needed to get home since Siger had a dentist’s appointment the next day, there’d be bills that were due to be mailed, etc., etc.

Molly was nursing Michael, head resting against the back of the sofa, and she rolled her head sideways toward Mycroft. “I’m really going to miss them, Mycroft,” she said. “They’ve been a pleasure to have around, and they’ve been extremely helpful.” She looked down at Michael. “I’m glad they’ve had this time with the baby, but we have to make sure they see Michael often.”

“We will,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ll make sure to invite them more often.”

“But that’s not enough,” she said. “We need to visit them as well, and if you’re not available, I should go on my own.”

“Molly –”

“Mycroft, I know they’re in great health, but they’re both in their late seventies.” Molly sighed. “I hope they live for another twenty years, but we can’t take them for granted.”

“Don’t worry, my love – we’ll work it out.”

When the time of their departure came, Molly cried, Violet cried, and Michael cried – though that was probably because of Molly’s delay in responding to his nursing cue and not in recognition that his grandparents were leaving. Siger’s eyes were decidedly moist when he kissed the baby, hugged and kissed Molly, and gripped Mycroft’s shoulder before pulling his son into a hug. Mycroft was successful at hiding it, but even he felt a lump in his throat as he and Molly stood on the front steps, watching the car turn through the gate.

~~~~~

_Second Friday in June_

Mycroft slipped into the house a bit earlier than usual Friday evening - and without Molly noticing, which wasn’t due to the stealth of his entry, but to the noise coming from the music room. He placed his briefcase on the hall table and hung up his umbrella, then stepped to the open door and surveyed the scene.

Molly was on her elbows and knees, bum in the air, on a large blanket on the floor, singing to four-weeks-old Michael who was on his stomach, feet pumping jerkily as he lifted his head just enough to clear the blanket. Molly broke off from singing and her rear-end wiggled in excitement as she exuberantly praised the baby. “That’s it, Michael! Oooh, you’re such a _clever_ boy!” She lowered her head further until their faces were close together and continued talking to him cheerfully. Mycroft couldn’t distinguish everything she was saying since the music drowned out her soft tones.

Molly gasped and twisted around when the music abruptly shut off. “Mycroft!” She quickly got to her feet, looking excited, then paused. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough for my ears to bleed from the infernal racket.”

Molly grinned, then bent to pick up Michael while singing, _“Dra-ma queen, tall and lean, thirty-plus-seventeen …”_

Mycroft rolled his eyes, recognizing the tune from having once suffered through a matinee of _Mamma Mia_ during a visit by his parents. “Just how much time did you spend on those lyrics?”

“Not that long,” she said, then grinned mischievously. “What took time was the wait for the right opportunity to use them!”

Molly skipped closer – honest to god, his 36-year-old wife was _skipping_ – and hitched Michael higher in her arms. “Your daddy’s home, Michael!” The baby’s eyes were bright with interest and he gurgled and his feet pumped excitedly when Molly passed him to Mycroft.

As Mycroft reached for the baby, he couldn’t deny feeling dead chuffed when Michael obviously recognized him and reacted with such enthusiasm. He pressed a deliberately noisy kiss on the baby’s forehead, and Michael cooed and gurgled in response as his toes dug into Mycroft’s stomach.

After supper, the three of them settled in the study - Mycroft completing some work at his desk, and Molly nursing Michael in a chair by the fireplace.

“Do you think it’s cool enough for a fire? Just the gas starter would be fine.” It had been a rainy day and Molly had felt chilled when the temperature dropped during the early evening. Mycroft agreed and came around his desk to take care of it. _“Mmm,_ your daddy’s making a fire for us, Michael,” she said, smiling at the intent look on his sweet little face. “Sitting by a fire on a cold – well, _coolish_ – night is one of life’s pleasures.” Michael’s eyes remained fixed on Molly’s, slowly blinking as he drifted toward sleep, pausing occasionally from the slow, deep rhythm of his sucking. She glanced at Mycroft who had shifted from his crouch in front of the fire until he was facing them. “I don’t think he’s impressed.”

Mycroft’s lips twitched. “Your breasts have him mesmerized.”

“Something he shares with his father?”

“Mmm,” he said, rising to his feet, then stooped to kiss her upturned face. “But they’re off limits to me for the time being so no flirting.”

“I don’t flirt,” she said indignantly.

“Yes, you do,” Mycroft drawled as he dropped into the chair beside them, rested his clasped hands on his stomach, and stretched his legs out with a deep sigh. “I didn’t say I dislike it,” he added in a deeper tone.

Molly flushed at the look he gave her, lowered her eyes to the now-sleeping baby, and adjusted her clothing. “I’m taking Michael up. Would you like me to fix you a drink or make some tea when I come down?”

Mycroft declined her offer, then watched the two of them leave before reaching for his book. He was reading when Molly returned to the study and deliberately nudged his knee as she set the baby monitor on the side table. He looked up, brows raised, then put the book down when she pointed at his lap.

Once Molly had levered herself onto his knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, Mycroft slid his hands around her hips. “Thank you for giving me Michael,” she whispered, pressing closer as she kissed his jaw.

Mycroft huffed as he stared into the fire over her shoulder. “Why do you _say_ these things, Molly? It’s the other way around entirely. My role in creating him was extremely limited, and the relatively little amount of time and effort _my_ contribution took was entirely my pleasure, I assure you.”

Molly abruptly straightened, briefly studied his expression, then sank back against him, deciding not to pursue that point further. “Yes, well,” she said, nestling her head in the crook of his neck and fingering the buttons on his waistcoat, “thank you for misunderstanding the concept of ‘friends with benefits’.”

He cocked his head so he could see her better. “What do you mean?”

She raised hers to stare at him earnestly. “You didn’t leave it for me to call you late some night when I was, um … _you_ know. You invited me to stay for the weekend.”

He pursed his lips as he leaned his head against the back of the chair. “As I was unlikely to be available to respond to such an ‘emergency’ call, I thought we might as well get on with it.”

Molly shoved him with her shoulder, flushing. _“Mycroft!”_

The corners of Mycroft’s lips turned up in amusement. “Molly, my darling … you can be adorably oblivious at times. I knew what ‘friends with benefits’ meant – or did by the time I came to your flat. That kind of arrangement didn’t appeal to me at all as it was entirely too hit-and-miss. If we were going to be intimate, having something like an old-fashioned affair seemed far more suited to our respective situations.”

“You mean you planned an affair from the start?”

“Planned?” He looked thoughtful. “No, but I knew the haphazard, on-call type of arrangement you proposed wasn’t practical with my work schedule.” He looked at her more seriously. “Mind you, I didn’t foresee _sentiment_ evolving as it did. I believed we could enjoy being with each other, but I didn’t think myself capable of falling in love.” He pressed his forehead against hers before continuing more softly, “And now you’ve drawn me into the kind of conversation you promised I wouldn’t have to –” He sighed, then dropped a quick kiss on her lips and lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Mrs. Collingwood’s left for the night, Michael may sleep for an hour or two …,” he paused, holding her eyes.

“Yes?” she said, rather breathlessly.

“So I should get back to the work I need to complete,” Mycroft finished, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, of course,” Molly pushed away and sat up, then squeaked when he took hold of her upper arms and pulled her into a deep kiss. She moaned when he dipped her further sideways against his forearm and bent more closely over her.

Mycroft finally raised his head, breathing faster than normal but looking pleased with himself. “Or we could snog for a while.”

Molly just stared at him, feeling flustered and not a little bit horny. “You know how much I love kissing you,” she finally said, “but it’s madness to work ourselves up like this.”

 _“Anticipation of pleasure is, in itself, a very considerable pleasure,”_ he quoted, bending to nuzzle her neck, then added. “David Hume, ‘A Treatise of Human Nature’.”

“Surely not when it leaves you with such an erection,” Molly said, tentatively fingering his belt buckle. “Mycroft, please let me –”

“No, my dear, not without you,” he said, covering her hand. “I can wait. Come on, kiss me again.”

Molly stared at him for a few moments, then slowly smiled and slid her hands around his neck. They finally broke apart, breathing heavily, and Molly pressed her cheek to Mycroft’s chest, smiling at the feel of his heart thrumming under her ear. The silence was broken when Molly murmured, “I must be cutting off circulation to your legs.”

“That’s all right,” Mycroft murmured back. “All the blood’s gone elsewhere anyway.”

Molly didn’t catch that for a moment, then she stifled a giggle and sat up. “All the more reason to get off your lap and let you recover.”

He promptly slid his hands lower on her hips and pulled her back against him. “Or we could sit in front of the fire like an old married couple and let it resolve itself.”

“I know for a fact that an old married couple is just as likely to make out before the fire as a younger one,” she said, lips curving as she paused. “I mean, consider your parents ...”

Mycroft groaned. “If you wanted to kill the mood, congratulations.”

Molly snorted, then sat up and reached for the baby monitor when she heard a snuffling noise. “Michael’s awake,” she said, stretching a foot to the floor and sliding off Mycroft’s lap. “Are you coming?”

“Not for another two weeks or so,” Mycroft said, drily.

Molly flushed, then grinned to herself as she turned away and headed upstairs to Michael.

~~~~~

_Third Saturday in June, The Cottage_

The brothers were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, hands in pockets, looking out of their parents’ kitchen window. Mycroft, Molly and the baby had come down the previous evening, but Sherlock had just arrived. At Violet’s edict they were to have a late lunch al fresco to take advantage of the weekend’s unusually spectacular weather. She and Siger were setting the large, rectangular picnic table they’d recently acquired, and Molly was chatting with them from the garden bench where she was nursing five-weeks-old Michael under a brightly patterned baby’s blanket.

“Caring is not an advantage, you said.”

Mycroft, his mouth set in a firm line, did a half-turn toward Sherlock and studied his brother’s profile. “I was wrong, Sherlock.” His brother’s head turned and their eyes met and held as Mycroft continued, “Caring for the _right_ person, the right _people,_ can be a great advantage.” Mycroft lifted his hand to rest on his brother’s shoulder. “And being cared for by _them,_ being _loved,_ is the greatest advantage of all.” Sherlock blinked a few times as their gazes continued to hold, then Mycroft squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder and dropped his hand. Sherlock didn’t reply but his eyes followed Mycroft as he walked to the back door, opened it, and paused at the threshold with his hand on the doorknob. “Are you coming, little brother?”

Sherlock’s eyes slid to where his laptop sat on the kitchen table, then rested again on his brother’s back, which visibly tensed as the silence continued. He shifted to look out the window at his father, who was now sprawled in a lawn chair. His mother had joined Molly on the bench and was talking animatedly to her while holding his nephew.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, Mikey, I believe I am.” Sherlock was still smirking when he came abreast of Mycroft in the open doorway. Before the younger man knew what was happening, his brother pounced. “What the _hell_ are you doing?” Sherlock struggled to free himself from the chokehold Mycroft had around his throat, his fingers trying to pry the surprisingly muscular forearm away from his neck.

“Little brother, if you ever call me that again, I won’t be responsible for my actions.” Mycroft tightened his hold briefly. “Understand?”

“You _do_ like to be a drama queen,” Sherlock snarled. _“Get off!”_ They both froze upon spotting Violet heading their way. When Mycroft abruptly dropped his arm, Sherlock gave him a quick shove, then they both turned innocent faces toward their mother.

Violet sighed as she stopped on the doorstep and looked from one to the other suspiciously, but then her expression lightened. “Sherlock? Come see Mikey.” She turned and went back down the path without waiting for him to reply.

Mycroft scowled when Sherlock chuckled in delight and edged past him to trail after their mother. He watched glumly as his infuriating, pestilent, vexatious, irksome, maddening … _arse_ of a little brother reached Molly, clapped his hands with great enthusiasm, and reached for the baby. “Just look how you’ve _grown,_ Mikey,” Sherlock trilled, cradling Michael against him as he turned in a slow circle and threw Mycroft a taunting glance from under his brows.

 _Caring might have its advantages,_ Mycroft thought, _but it can be_ bloody _inconvenient. And_ damned _annoying._

Mycroft finally released a long breath through his nose, and his gaze shifted to Molly. Their eyes met and held for several moments before she tilted her head toward Sherlock, rolled her eyes dramatically and finished with a comical grimace, and Mycroft felt a wave of pure affection for her. He didn’t question his love for Molly – it was now a constant, a bedrock – but sometimes her place in their lives could still take him aback. There was something unexpected, something _inexplicable,_ about how Molly simply _fit._ She was his best friend, his lover, his partner, but at times it was as if she’d _always_ been there, _always_ been part of the Holmes family.

Mycroft lost awareness of anything but Molly as he continued to study her. Then Molly took Michael back, cuddled him against her breasts, and gave Mycroft the kind of smile that started as a sweet curve of her lips and widened until her face glowed and her eyes seemed lit from within. Mycroft held her gaze a few moments longer, then slowly returned her smile, pulled the door closed behind him, and went to join his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After five months, I've actually completed my first fan fiction. Thanks so much to everyone who read my story - or even read part of it and gave up! Thanks for your very kind use of the kudos button! And special thanks to those of you who took the time to comment. I never realized how much it could mean. Your encouragement kept me going!!
> 
> THANK YOU!!!

**Author's Note:**

> When choosing between UK and American spellings for words ending in "our" vs. "or" / "ence" vs. "ense" / "ise" versus "ize" / etc., I've stuck with the American version to avoid unnecessary stress. Just trying to write is stressful enough!


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